


Embrace the Change

by midnightecho



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 9x23 spoilers, Castiel & Sam Winchester Friendship, Complete, Dark Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester/Castiel - Freeform, Demon!Dean, Implied/Referenced Torture, Minor Original Character(s), Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-10-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:24:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 30,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1667951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightecho/pseuds/midnightecho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is clear.<br/>Life is pure.<br/>And Dean has never felt more alive.</p><p>Set after the season 9 finale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Awakening

All that’s left to him now is a persistent itching heat. The Mark burns under his cooling skin, scorching any remnants of his soul. It’s angry, stubborn, and as his hand is wrapped around the leather-bound handle of bone, it shoots down his arm. The heat spreads, bringing an overwhelming power. Bringing life.

Something rises within him, overpowering his rationality and any weakness that lingered. The deep-seated roots sprout up from where they have been buried within him all along; bitterness and resentments, repressed angst and frustration, and as it breaks through the surface and multiplies until a wholesome hatred courses through his veins.

At the call, his eyelids slide open.

The world is clear.

Life is pure.

And Dean has never felt more alive.

Everything is sharper through his new eyes. The definition is clearer, colours are, ironically, brighter; and it’s not just his sight. Despite the overwhelming power the Blade brings him, it doesn’t dull his senses in any way – on the contrary, it heightens them. He can feel every contour of the strapping around the bone against his skin, feel the air flowing in and out of him, taste the blood in his mouth, hear the distant wind outside, hear the breath of another, smell their scent.

He sits up. His body is new; not like it had been when he got out of Hell – it’s not back to factory settings. Instead he has all his scars, proof of the trials he’s been through, as well as a languidity to his movements that tells him he’s in perfect fighting shape. He certainly feels ready for a fight.

He blinks twice. He looks up and sees Crowley; sees the king's true face for the first time. It isn’t pretty (being warped by Hell has done nothing to improve it) but it’s real. The experience of hundreds of years is etched there clearly. And to Dean it is a work of art.

Crowley looks up at him. The look tells Dean a hundred things at once: yes, he is now a demon; yes, it’s a good feeling isn’t it?; no, the moose doesn’t have to know, he thinks you’re going to be saved by me – which, in a way, you have been; I’d call this existence a step up from humanity rather than the step down it’s perceived to be; yes, we’re proper besties now; yes, I’m still going to call you Squirrel; we’ll deal with the angel when we get to that bridge; now, don’t you think it’s time to have some fun?

Dean contemplates all the prospects that have been laid out before him thanks to his recent evolution. He thinks of the eternal opportunities now that he has been liberated from his human niceties. Thinks of all the trouble he could cause, of the wonderment of releasing his fire on the unsuspecting world, of the sheer satisfaction it would bring.

And he smiles.


	2. Let's Make A Deal

“Hello Moose.”

Crowley has to say, Sam looks a mess. Slouched against the wall, drink in hand, eyes red and a resigned look in his eyes, the demon almost feels sorry for him. Almost.

“Took you long enough.”

Crowley joins him in sitting. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

“Then fix it.”

“By doing what? Making a deal? Resurrecting him out of the goodness of my heart? I may be the king of Hell but I’m not stupid.”

“But you’re _the king of Hell._ Surely there are perks.”

“Of course there are, I can do whatever I want – but with great power comes great responsibility.” Sam rolls his eyes. “And you know how I am about honesty, Sam. The only honest way to sort out this would be to make a deal.”

“Then I’ll make a deal.” Crowley doubts that Sam had really thought there would be an alternative in the first place.

“But _why?_ Why are you two so persistent to _sacrifice_ yourselves for one another every damn time? When are you going to get it? _You two aren’t exceptions to the rule._ Everyone has to die some day or another, and you’ve both had plenty of those days. Isn’t it about time you stayed dead?”

Sam meets his eyes. And Crowley knows exactly what he’s thinking.

“Would you really do that, Sam? I’ve been in your head, I know what happened last time – you may be ready to die permanently, but last time it was to _slam the gates of Hell._ Now, I wasn’t a fan of that plan, but at least that would’ve had some kind of impact on the world! But this time? It’d bring Dean back. Again. And he’s bound to die _again_ in six months’ time. Tell me honestly: is it really worth it?”

Sam smiles ruefully and utters those words that have convinced him he’s doing the right thing every time previously and will continue to convince him every time after.

“He’s my brother.”

Crowley sighs heavily. “Alright, let’s get this over with. I take it you want to die straight away?”

“No,” Sam says firmly. “I want the chance to tell him why. Make him understand this time and make sure he won’t bring me back. I want to... say goodbye.”

“Really? Yet another soppy Winchester farewell? You’ll cry on each other’s shoulders because 'it’s not what you want but it’s the right thing to do’? Somebody get me a box of tissues, I’ll be shedding bucketloads–”

Sam squares his jaw during this speech and strides over, grabbing Crowley’s face between his hands and pulling him up for a rough kiss. When he releases him, Crowley looks up at Sam with a smirk.

“Oh Moose, I get all tingly when you take control like that.”

Sam’s eyes flash and Crowley can tell he’s ready to punch him. “So it’s done, then?” he manages to say without initiating physical assault.

“Done. Now are you going to let me out of this damn trap so I can bring dear Dean back or am I going to have to force you to?”

No sooner than Sam has scraped a gap in the paint, Crowley is gone. Sam huffs – he should’ve known better and at least cuffed him, but losing Dean has shaken him and he is nowhere near on top of his game.

He runs up to Dean’s room and is hardly surprised to find the bed empty.

“For fuck’s sake, Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon (may be a week or two in reality as I've still got exams and an art exhibition to finish - but more plot is planned and ready)
> 
> Update: exams almost over, and if you're enjoying this so far, I wrote this (http://archiveofourown.org/works/1752752) late the other night which may help with more season 9 feels. Or just enhance them.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	3. I Just Want To Be An Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's taken a while to update - exams are now over so I'll hopefully update more frequently :D
> 
> Shout out to Holly and Ruby for straightening out plot and canon problems I had and helping me to plan the chapters to come, thank you very very much!

Cas supposes he should be feeling victorious. Heaven has rallied against Metatron and the fake God is now sat on the other side of the cell bars, drained of his extra powers and looking sorry for himself. He wasn’t going to be doing any more damage for as long as these cells could hold him; they had held Gadreel since the Garden, and they can hold a mere scribe for an eternity.

But all this does little to comfort Castiel.

He feels empty. 

Dean is gone.

He doesn’t want to believe what Metatron had said; he could’ve just been trying to hurt him where he knew it would hurt most… but the _blood_. His blade had been coated in it to the handle.

He has to find him. He has to help.

Sam. Sam will know what happened. Sam will need him. Sam will want Dean back just as much as him.

The only problem is, his stolen grace is fading fast. Healing Gadreel had drained a considerable amount of its power, and the rest of the day he had been running on adrenaline and determination. Now the ordeal is over, Cas is exhausted.

“And your grace? What will you do about that? You will die if you don’t replenish it.”

They both have the same idea, but something tells Cas to hesitate. He gives Hannah a doubtful look. 

"Why not, Castiel?! For goodness' sake, you were ready to kill him moment ago!"

"At least he would have died an angel."

"He doesn't deserve that title. ["Ouch," Metatron pipes up from his cell.] You do. He did the same to you." 

"And I should sink to his level?"

["Still right here."]

"He was the one who caused all of this- this _mayhem!_ He made every brother and sister fall to the miserable Earth without a thought for anyone but himself - lost us our wings, made us live amongst those _animals_ -"

"They're not animals, Hannah, they're people."

["Yeah, Hannah-"]

_"He killed Dean-"_

A thousand stormclouds gather in the glare Cas descends up her. She silences immediately, eyes lowered but still fueled by anger. She aims her filthy hatred at the prisoner, but he only blinks innocently and shrugs.

Cas sighs. "Even if I took his grace, it'll last no longer than any other angel's. He's not special anymore [*pitiful sigh*]. The only way for me to live without stealing grace after grace - killing fellow _angels_ in the process, which I've done enough to last a lifetime already - is if I regain my own."

"But your grace was lost in the spell to close Heaven."

There is a long, low chuckle from within the cell.

"I was wondering when we'd get to this topic of conversation." Metatron is looking far too excited for someone in his position. 

Castiel turns slowly to face him, brows characteristically furrowed. "What do you mean?"

Metatron spreads his hands. "Deduce."

Cas huffs in frustration. "I'm not Sherlock Holmes."

"Clearly," Metatron says.

Hannah looks blank.

"Tell me what became of my grace."

The prisoner sighs dramatically. "Fine. You know as well as I that a lot of spells do not involve the expiry of its ingredients."

"This one included?"

"Yes, Watson, this one included. Well done for keeping up."

"So where is it now?" Cas is leaning close to the bars, eager now.

Metatron's smile is possibly the most condescending thing Cas has ever witnessed. "Now telling you _that_ would make it far too easy. I don't want to take all the fun out of it, do I?"

"Why _are_ you telling us this?" Hannah interjects.

"What, just because I'm not on the field I'm not allowed to play? I still have an influence on this story, loathe though you must be to admit. And besides, you have no choice but to trust my word, Castiel. No non-violent choice, anyway, besides your own death. And morality is your most famous trait, after all."

There's a glint of some darker motive behind Metatron's eyes, but eventually Cas lowers his gaze. He turns to Hannah with slumped shoulders, a finality developing. "He's right."

_"Castiel-"_

"If there's a chance my grace is still out there, I have to take it."

"He's playing you, just like before-"

 _"Hannah._ I have to do this."

She sighs. There's no way he will change his mind if the other option is violence. Everyone knows that.

"I'm leaving Heaven in your charge. Promise me you won't do anything to him while I'm gone."

Hannah shrugs in resignation. "Fine. I'll lock the place up so nobody gets in or out. Knowing our brothers and sisters, some are likely to try and finish the job themselves." She pauses and gives a tight smile. "Good luck Castiel. We're here if you need us."

"Thank you." He places a hand on her shoulder and gives a small squeeze before heading for Heaven's door.


	4. Let's Take A Howl At That Moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took a little while for this chapter too - but before the end of the week, as promised! Thanks to anyone who is reading this or just happens to stumble upon it at whatever ridiculous hour it is here in the UK atm.
> 
> Again credit must go to Ruby for the idea of Hell's latest revamp. It's great.
> 
> And just to clarify, I worked out with late-night maths that an hour on Earth should be about a week in Hell so that's what I'm working with in this chapter. 
> 
> These chapters just keep getting longer and it'll probably continue like that. And they will probably all be named by quotes from the show because I have imagination.

"What are we doing here, Crowley?"

The king of Hell can tell just from the pout in his voice that Dean wants to be somewhere else. Somewhere more interesting and running things himself. He knows what it feels like; when he first realised the ironic wonder that came with a lack of emotion, he went all over the place doing whatever he liked because he didn't have any morals and, hell, he just _loved_ it. But Dean hasn't been through the proper orientation. He's been thrust into demonhood with barely any preparation and as exhilarating as that has to be, it's also got to be pretty fucking terrifying as well. All that power. Jesus.

When he'd first resurrected the new (and once again only) knight of Hell, Crowley regretted not putting the Blade on a bungee cord or something. Dean's new face was alive with the power surging through him as he smiled a wonderfully awful smile. Muscles had flexed as he gripped his Blade, sat up with renewed stealth and precision, and when Crowley met his eyes, he saw they were glinting with bloody anticipation.

And shit, it was kind of terrifying. In an incredible way of course, but even the king of Hell was smart enough to know what was dangerous.

But Crowley had kept his cool. It would be even more stupid to let Dean know what power he had over him. Instead he smiled back and hoped he was showing just how excited he was about the situation (because he was hella excited). It seemed to work seeing as Dean's first demonic act wasn't killing him, as Crowley had expected it might have been. Dean knew a lot about demons having hunted them most of his life, but you never really knew or fully appreciated the perks unless you had the full induction. In short, Dean was in need of a bit of education, and Crowley was his best option at the moment.

The king of Hell was only too happy to have a new friend. 

Blimey, he hadn't had a friend in a while. 

The first thing Crowley had shown him was the teleporting. He had stood up, Dean mirroring the action, and gripped his shoulder. For dramatic flair he added a quirked eyebrow and a click of his fingers, and with a familiar rush they were in the middle of some Welsh field surrounded by fresh air and the lovely sounds of nature. 

Dean had hurled. 

Crowley should have guessed that was going to happen. As far as he's heard, Dean has never been on good terms with travel.

Crowley had patted him on the back. "You'll get used to it. Now I've got to go take care of your brother. Try not to run off while I'm gone."

By the time Crowley had made the deal and popped back, all the sheep within a 10 metre radius were on their backs bleeding out. Dean was breathing heavily in the middle of them, fists clenched and Blade bloody.

Crowley never left Dean on his own after that.

Hell had had another makeover since the Winchesters had last been down there. In fact, it was so hellish that Crowley spent most of his time on Earth simply because being down there frustrated him so much. He'd have to switch things around again soon.

The thing was, the speed of sound had been made phenomenally slow so all audio lagged behind their actions and he found it infuriating. Everything took twice as long as it should have done. Including explaining the recent adjustments when they first went down there.

"Welcome to the jungle," Crowley had introduced, spreading his arms wide to indicate Hell HQ where they suddenly found themselves, temporarily forgetting about the lag and turning to see Dean's reaction just as his words reached him. The new demon looked secretly amused by the lyrical reference.

"Fuck," Crowley said, remembering the lag. Dean raised an eyebrow at his silent cuss and when he then heard it, made to inquire about the apparent situation but Crowley held up his hands to indicate not to speak. He then explained, slightly amused by Dean's attempt to decipher his moving lips at the same time as listening to the words when they eventually drifted over. Finally, he nodded his understanding. _I really ought to get them to change it so at least I, the_ king _, can hear normally. I shouldn't have to put up with this shit too._

"This is what I wanted to show you," Crowley proceeded, stepping into his office with Dean belatedly following. Dean's eyes glinted when he caught sight of the screens overseeing some of the torture chambers. "Should help you to take out some of that bloodlust, right?"

Dean was grinning when he finally heard what the king had said.

He spent the next week down in Hell honing his skills. Dean didn't come out of his personal chamber, but Crowley kept an eye on him from his office and he had to say he was bloody impressed. Sure, Dean had had some training from Alastair all those years ago, but a combination of further practice and that amplified killer instinct made it a wonder to watch him at work. He was more inventive than Crowley had even seen anyone be when torturing, and he even took to using the audio lag for dramatic effect; he'd be facing away from his victim and say something threatening and evil, then turn around to face them with calculated timing to make it seem as though he were telling them it telepathically. (He seemed way too pleased with himself the first time that worked successfully.) He also seemed to relish the moments when his victim's sound lagged; he watched with hungry black eyes as they screamed and strained and struggled without a sound, witnessed the artwork before the soundtrack played. And Crowley could tell from the way Dean closed his eyes and smiled that it was pure music to his ears when it came through. 

When they re-emerge on the surface an Earth-hour later, Dean seems a lot more satisfied than he had been in that field. 

The only problem is, Dean now has a taste for what he could be out doing. Which is why, when they arrive at a nondescript flat (via car rather than teleportation - Dean has decided he wants to keep him feet firmly on ground as much as possible, and Crowley isn't about to argue with the most powerful demon he knows), Dean asks with a pout what they are doing there. 

"While you were busy flaying souls, I received a message. The guy who lives here is still loyal to Abaddon, and I'm trying to flush out the last of such vile creatures."

"Why don't you send one of your own lackies to deal with it?" Dean is still unimpressed. 

"Well first of all I thought it was about time you graduated to the real world, because let's be honest, Alastair's old post is great fun but it's a little lacking for life experience. And secondly I want any information the letch might have about others like him."

"Oh, so I'm torturing for _you_ now? Because that's so much healthier."

"Are you honestly concerned about your health? Come on, I'll get you a nice slice of pie afterwards."

Dean sighs but follows him to the door nonetheless. 

Judging by the way the demon they hunted out backs away from the door as soon as he opens it, news of Dean's lifestyle upgrade has spread through the demon network like croatoan. He doesn't get far before Dean has pushed through the door and grabbed him by the collar, slamming him up against a convenient wall and leaving closer to growl, "I think you've got something we want."

_You did well with this one, Crowley. Give yourself a cookie._

_Don't mind if I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask, I don't know why a cookie. It's late. Or early. 
> 
> Also I know there has been a bit of debate as to whether Dean will be a knight or a regular demon, but I came to the conclusion that because he was made demon via the Blade, it's a pure way of passage as opposed to corruption in Hell so he's as alpha-like as other knights. But that was just a technicality of language I thought I'd clarify - basically He's a supercharged demon. Yay *rubs hands together at all the horrors I can write thanks to this wonderful plot twist*  
> I really have come to love the Supernatural writers for this.
> 
> And, Ruby: the 'hella' was for you.
> 
> Next chapter coming very soon, concerning Cas and Sam :)


	5. Misery Loves Company

It's the early hours of the morning when Sam hears a desperate rapping on the door of the Bunker. 

He pulls himself to his feet, stumbling to the door in his haste. _It could be him. Dean could be back._ It's all that gets him there in his exhaustion. 

He feels shitty for being disappointed when it isn't him. Cas must be feeling as awful as he is - he looks as much. "Jesus, Cas, are you okay?" Sam hasn't used his voice since he made the deal, which was hours ago now, and it comes out cracked and deep. 

The angel looks like he's been on his feet all night. Actually, without his wings, he probably has. He's breathing heavily and his hair is sodden with rain and his face is a helpless mess as he rasps, "Is it true?"

Cas must see the answer in Sam's equally wrecked expression because he lets out a sorrowful wail, mumbles about something about a blade and blood as he falls forward - Sam reaches out to hold him, comfort him, show he shares this agonising pain, but he realises as he catches Cas's full weight that he's just passed out from exhaustion.

Sam's brotherly instincts kick in as he lifts the angel into his arms, glances into the drizzly gloom to check he wasn't followed and then shuts the door with his foot. He carries Cas up to one of the spare rooms and places him gently on the bed. He removes his coat and shoes, which are soaked through, as well as carefully toweling his hair into a drier state before tucking the covers up snugly around his unconscious friend's ears so he is no longer shivering. Sam sits back in the chair beside the bed and holds his head in his hands. 

He doesn't get any sleep the rest of that night - it's not like he was going to anyway. He'd been wide awake when Cas arrived despite his exhaustion. The tears had dried up hours before and he had just sat feeling sick and useless. Making the deal had been the opposite of helpful; now Dean was God knew where having God knew what done to him. Something in him feared that sleep would animate the horrors his brain was currently attempting to repress. So he didn't sleep.

Cas looks peaceful when he's sleeping. Or rather, the most peaceful Sam has ever seen him. There's still a faint crease between his eyebrows and he flinches every now and then as his dreams turn sour, but other than that, his muscles are relaxed, jaw free of the tension it always seems to hold, his breathing is soft and steady and he is curled up in the foetal position entangled in the sheets like nothing more than a kid. Cas is the oldest being he knows, but his innocence can still startle Sam. 

He stirs into consciousness around 8am. Slowly those lines creep back into his face and Cas is no longer at peace. The trials of millennia are etched for all to see. 

Cas rolls over and blinks the sleep out of his eyes. "Sam? What..." His face drops as he remembers the events of the last 24 hours and he curls up again. "What happened?" he asks eventually, voice quiet.

Sam takes a deep breath and tells the angel everything. There are several points where he has to take a moment - saying it out loud to someone else makes it all the more absolute. The twisting in his gut only deepens when Cas's reaction mirrors how he feels on the inside.

"I've called everyone I know who's still around, which... actually wasn't that many people." Sam clears his throat. "But nobody's heard or seen anything."

Cas wipes his cheeks and sits up. "Have you tried calling Dean again recently?"

"Half an hour ago."

Cas picks up his own mobile and tries anyway. When Sam hears it go straight to the grainy recording of the familiar voicemail message, Cas squeezes his eyes shut and hangs up. He sets his jaw in an attempt to think forward of the situation. 

"If he is with Crowley, he could still be safe. He knows how valuable Winchesters are, and how much you'll sacrifice for each other."

"Crowley would have made sure we didn't have any way of contacting him; a phone call would be to easy."

"Plus I can't imagine the cell signal in Hell is any good."

"The wifi's pretty great," Sam mutters.

"What?"

"What?"

Castiel squints at him in suspicion. 

"Look," Sam says, moving swiftly on, "I don't think we're gonna hear anything from Dean any time soon. Our next best bet is Crowley. I've tried his number too: no go. But we can always summon the bastard."

Cas nods his agreement. "Let’s get going then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can I just say Cas and Sam are one of my biggest brOTPs ever and so they're gonna get plenty of one-to-one in the upcoming chapters and yay
> 
> Next chapter soon, thanks again for reading!


	6. He Was On A Break

_Not in the middle of another fucking massage._

Yet again the building is rumbling around him, providing some extent of therapeutic atmosphere but mostly just making far too much noise for the king of Hell's liking. He was just stopping in to give himself a pat on the back for the whole Dean situation, just wanted a bit of self-indulgence. Was that too bloody much to ask?!

"You're being summoned, Sir." _Yes, I'd got that much._ "Winchester again."

Crowley sighs overdramatically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will probably be pretty long, but I'll try and get it up by the end of the weekend :)


	7. The Dynamic Duo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent ages trying to think of a title. Ah well.  
> Enjoy a long chapter on the friendship of Sam and Cas.

"Cas."

Castiel turns his gaze from the empty devil's trap up to the hunter sat beside him. 

"I haven't even asked yet; how are you doing? You were pretty wrecked when you got here."

With all the worry about finding Dean, he's forgotten to tell Sam any of what had happened upstairs. Now they're sat waiting for the king of Hell to show up, and it looks like there's plenty of time to catch up on everything.

Cas sighs. "My grace is borrowed, and fading. I used a lot of it up when I healed Gadreel - who is, sadly... no longer with us. He died for our cause. With honor."

Sam lowers his gaze. "How?"

"We got through Heaven's gate, but it was a trap. We were locked in the cells that Gadreel had only recently been released from. He sacrificed himself in order to break the cells and set me free to confront Metatron.

"When Metatron showed up, he told me... what he'd done. His blade was coated to the handle in blood - i-in Dean's..." Cas has to squeeze his eyes shut again at the memory. He takes a deep breath before continuing. "But Metatron made the classic baddie mistake of divulging his plan. He inadvertently broadcasted his treachery live on angel radio. The other angels turned on him and put him in the cells. I wanted to end him, but Hannah made me see sense."

_"He's still alive up there?"_

"He'll suffer a lot more staying alive in that cell. Death would be a gift to him."

There's a sinister quality to Cas' s voice, and Sam goes quiet. 

"Hannah tried to convince me to take his grace, but I couldn't do that. I don't want to go on some kind of revenge mission - yes he took mine, but I also know what it is like to live without grace. I can't do that to anyone, no matter how much they deserve it. I just can't, Sam."

The hunter places a hand on his shoulder and nods his understanding. "You're too good for your own good, Cas," he says, sounding somewhat amazed. Cas doesn’t particularly understand why.

"Metatron did tell me that my grace is still out there. It wasn't used up in the spell. Finding that is a far better solution than taking the grace of other angels in my books."

Sam straightens up, eyebrows reaching for his hairline. _"Your grace is still out there?_ Cas, we've got to go find it."

The angel gestured emphatically at the whole setup before them.

"Cas, this could take forever. God knows Crowley likes to take his sweet-ass time, and meanwhile you are _dying!_ Hell, you turned up last night and slept for six hours - you're virtually human again and it won't be long before you're past that and burning out." His voice has gone quiet. "And I'm not going to let that happen to you, not when I can stop it. I've lost enough family to last me a lifetime. I can't lose you too."

Cas's words catch in his throat. Sam's eyes are pleading with him and in them he can see it all; Dean, Kevin, Bobby, John, Jessica, Mary... the list goes on and he can see them and more totting up in Sam's memory and he _feels_ it deep inside him, all the loss and pain and _humanity_ and -

Before Cas can even think of some way to respond to that: "Hello boys."

It's not Crowley. It's a woman's voice, smooth and seductive. Sam is on his feet in an instant and shouting. 

"Where the hell is Crowley? What's he done with my brother? WHERE IS HE?!"

The demon looks on coolly even as Sam strides forward, a towering 6' 4" mass of anger, and presses Ruby's blade against its throat. It only blinks languidly and gives that self-sure smile that all demons seem to have. "Relax, big guy. Your brother is safe."

Sam scoffs. "'Safe'? Oh that's reassuring." Cas can hear contempt dripping from his words. "Where's Crowley? The bastard can't even be bothered to attend his own summoning?"

The demon shrugs. "King of Hell. Perks."

"Get me Crowley now or I'll end you right here."

It holds its hands up. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger. I've told you your brother is fine, so trust me and let it be."

"Trust you? Yeah, because demons are so fucking trustworthy."

"This message comes directly from Crowley. You know he's all for sticking to his word. Look, you're not going to talk me into going against my king to bring your brother to you in exchange for my life or anything like that. I'd only end up in a torture chamber for eternity. So suck it up; you're not seeing Dean again til Crowley wants you to."

"Sam."

The younger Winchester turns to face him, reluctantly resigned. He nods. "Let's go."

As they walk out, they hear the demon. "Uh, okay. So... you're just gonna leave me here? _Seriously?_ Guys, come on! For fuck's sake. I knew I should've gone for the office job. Fucking typical."

When they get back out to the main hall of the Bunker, Sam carries on marching towards the door. 

"Sam, where are we going?"

Sam looks at him as though this were the most obvious question in the world. "We're going to find your grace."

***

Cas looks doubtfully at the sandwich bag Sam has dumped in his lap and unwraps it as the hunter starts the engine again. 

After a bite and a contemplative chew, Cas sighs.

"Nope. Still molecules."

***

They drive for hours. This is probably one of the only times the two of the have been in a car alone together. So Cas is at a bit of a loss for what to do. 

At one point, Cas switches the music player on. Loud classic rock blares out of the speakers at an insane volume and he jumps, panics, hits every switch he can find, fingers fumbling all over the place until the thing switches to radio and the volume is right down low. Cas sits back in his seat and elects not to try that again. Sam throws his head back and laughs at him. 

It's a nice thing to see: Sam laughing. For a moment, it's like the whole situation is irrelevant and they're in their own little bubble of not-pain. Even Cas breaks a smile. 

The music stays on. Carly Rae Jepsen comes on at one point and somehow they both end up singing along (apparently Metatron enjoyed a good tune as well and passed on that knowledge). Sam ends up confessing a love of crappy pop music that he indulges whenever Dean was out. 

"I mean, I've put up with loud music my entire life. When I get the chance for a change, I'm gonna damn well take it. Why not indulge on a bit of Thrift Shop once in a while?" Sam chuckles. "Hey, do you know all the words to that too?"

"Unfortunately, yes. It was Metatron's 'jam'," Cas says, with the air quotes and everything. He proves his claim when the song comes on, singing and rapping completely deadpan. Sam apparently nearly pisses himself laughing throughout; he first lost it at 'what up: I got a big cock' and it only got better and better. The deep-pitched chorus was ridiculously deep at Cas's range, even Cas had fun and started an awkward little sitting groove when the beat kicked in.

The next stop, Cas stretches his legs while Sam fills up the tank. It's odd; he knows from being a human that stretching was satisfying, as was sleeping, but now it's only a necessity. The hybrid state of angel and human he's floating in currently seems to give him the worst of both worlds: no angelic powers, no human appreciation. He really wanted to find his grace. 

He takes a walk across the road to the vending machine - he can feel a dryness in his mouth from when it had been hanging open as he fell asleep during the ride.

The coins clunk into the machine and eventually the drink thuds into the dispensary box. Cas bends down and retrieves his drink, but when he stands back up again he freezes. Someone is hovering in his peripheral vision who is not Sam and his stomach twists at the various possible identities, but he doesn't quite believe his widening eyes when he turns around.

_"Dean?!"_


	8. Blood On My Name

Crowley is the last person to underestimate a Winchester, but at long last it has happened.

Dean has been biding his time waiting for this kind of opportunity, seeing as Crowley has kept a close eye on him since the incident with the sheep, but the advantage that Dean now has is that Crowley thinks he knows what he’s going through; the king doesn’t remember much of being human (or if he does from his time on blood, he no longer cares), but he remembers becoming a demon. It redefined him. He had told Dean about it once. That was a dreary afternoon. But Dean had came to find that regular demon transformation, including Crowley’s, takes a lot longer than his did - his was a ‘special case’. Everyone else had years of corruption and training, spent most of their early demonic life slaughtering day and night (not that they could tell when which was which), being completely immersed in this new liberation and power.

Dean, on the other hand, has spent a lifetime killing already. Sure, the power is incredible and all that jazz, but Dean has spent a good few weeks torturing, honing his skills, and with Crowley taking him out for jobs, he is mastering his control as well. He requires frequent sessions to let out his animal need for blood, but to be honest (for probably the last time), Dean has been dialling all that up. The more Crowley thinks murder is the only thing on his mind, the more likely he is to let his guard down and get comfortable while Dean is in fact plotting away behind his back. Neat, right?

Crowley is in for his next massage and has left Dean in a chamber while the he takes a well-earned break. Dean knows by now that when Crowley has a massage, it’s him-time and nobody is going to disturbed him if they want to be alive for long. So Dean finishes off the demon he’s playing with and strolls out, picking up the pie he’d left on the side as a treat for when he’s done. The lone demon who’s been keeping an eye on him makes to stand up for his king, but backs down at no more than a challenging glance from the knight.

He has already become infamous throughout the ranks of demons. The Winchesters had a reputation as it was, but after they saw him proving his mettle in the chambers, they have a hell of a lot more respect for him. Nobody dares challenge the inheritor of the Mark.

And so he picks up the pi, grins threateningly at the guard demon and zaps the fuck out of there.

He relishes the thought of Crowley’s expression when he finds out his prize had skipped dimension; part of him is sad he won't get to see the fate of the demon who'd let him go, but the thought of the British expletives that will follow is pretty satisfying.

His stomach heaves when he gets topside, but he holds everything down. He’s getting better at it. After a moment, he decides it’s safe to eat some pie. Mm, apple and pecan.

He doesn't even need to eat; it’s more just an old habit. It has no effect on his metabolism, and that means he can indulge to his heart's content. Sometimes he eats something with a little salt in just to give it a little kick as it goes down. Once he forced a victim to eat a gammon steak. That was a fun day. 

Dean has been having a lot of fun with torturing. There's a surprisingly broad range of things that can be done with salt and holy water if you put your mind to it; holy water spray bottles are great fun when vics are misbehaving; when he leaves someone with a black eye, he offers them a steak to take down the swelling - a steak soaked in seawater; he'd gotten his own demon-killing knife as a welcome gift from Crowley, which comes in very useful for getting cocky demons nervous by giving them a very close shave; he gave one vic a holy water shower - that was a beautifully memorable moment; and of course he indulged his recent affection for the time lag. Crowley said he was thinking of having another switch around soon, so Dean makes the most of it while he still can.

Generally, torturing isn't quite as fun with souls (he tends to leave them to the lowers ranks of torturers, who he occasionally (and begrudgingly) gives masterclasses to), simply because holy water and salt don't have the same effect. Dean still uses them from time to time; once he just got bored and decided to overhydrate a soul, forcing a pipe down its throat and watching them bloat and fill up as the water pushed through their form: muscles had spasmed, eyes had rolled back, and as he looked on he had wondered why he never used to consider this a form of art. Torture could be truly extraordinary.

But now he's free, Dean is a little overwhelmed. He has worlds in his hands, complete reign of the realms. Where to begin?

Actually, he knows exactly where.

First stop: The offices. Having made the rounds with Crowley a decent amount now, Dean knows the ins and outs of how things are run. He knows the layers of Hell like the back of his hand, knows where all the paperwork happens, where the fresh arrivals come in, knows the pit where the piles of dead go to get reloaded onto the racks.

He also knows some of the workings on Earth. Dean finishes off his pie with a satisfied grin and pops to the topside admin offices (taking a moment when he gets there to make sure the pie stays down. He mentally high fives himself for succeeding in not wasting good pie. Then high fives himself literally anyway because he's so proud) and marches in.

"How's business?" Dean grins over the desk at Tracy. He knows if it's vessel were still alive, it'd be blushing (they had quite a bit of fun when he and Crowley had stopped in last. Dean had almost forgotten, with all the killing, about the whole sex thing, but when he bumped into Lust one time he soon remembered - or rather, she reminded him).

"It's, ah... it's great," she manages in a flustered exhalation. Dean may be infamous for his skill in killing, but he will always be known for his seduction and looks as well. Apparently he made a handsome demon too, and the fact that he was a notorious murderer with no morals meant that he was even less likely to get turned down.

"Well that's good to hear. I'm sure Crowley will be happy that everything is running smoothly." He leans forward, hands flat on the desk, and says it in a tone that implies that if things aren't running smoothly, it'd better be sorted out quickly or he'd come back and fuck people up.

"S-speaking of our king, is he not with you today?" _Shit, that dick's already put out a search party._ He should've ended that guard when he had the chance. Demons were generally terrified of Dean, but they were still bloody loyal to their king.

"No, he's... given me a bit of free reign. I just need to check up on a location, is that alright with you?"

Tracy meets his gaze surprisingly well. "Sure. Go right up." He can see in its eyes that it knows that if it goes to report him before he’s done, things will not end pretty. It's hand stays clear of the phone and Dean pointedly looks appreciatively at it and smiles as the elevator opens with perfect timing.

Dean doesn't like the accelerating and halting lurches of elevators, but it's still better than teleportation. Plus when the doors open, he can make an awesome entrance.

He does so and strides in like he owns the place. Which he pretty much does; one of the perks of being the king's favourite. Heads turn as he walks between the rows of office cubicles and he smirks to himself. 

He reaches his destination. "Aaron."

The demon looks up. Aaron isn't its name, it's the name of the human it’s possessing (Dean remembered quite liking him as a human, and so when he took a shine to a pupil with a similar kind of nature, he thought he'd give it a good vessel) but the demon doesn't complain. In fact it had taken to the name with affection (who wouldn't love the name the prince of murder gave you?) and now smiles up at him with a literal blush. "Good to see you again so soon, sir," it says, blinking up through its lashes. It had in fact been less than an hour up here, but a few days in Hell.

Dean smiles back. This one is definitely on his side. "I need you to find the locations of Sam Winchester and Castiel for me. Can you do that?"

"Sure thing," Aaron grins confidently. Dean knew Crowley would be having them tracked. He moves round behind the other demon as it taps away at the machine before it, placing his hands on the desk on either side of it and looking at the screen over its shoulder. He hears Aaron's pulse quicken.

"Here you go," Aaron says after a moment, a little breathily, and points to the screen. "151 South West, 48th, Lincoln; and by the looks of it, they've joined forces once more."

"Awesome." Dean hadn't expected that, but is now imagining how things will play out with both of his previous acquaintances present and is looking forward to this even more. "Thanks Aaron," he says in the demon's ear, voice low. "I'll see you soon."

Aaron swallows thickly and Dean's smile widens. Teasing is a lot of fun. 

By the time he's straightened up, he's by the gas station Aaron had pointed out to him (again, without much stomach disturbance. Mental high-five only this time because there are actually people around) and can see an unfamiliar coat but a very familiar head of messy hair. He steps up behind Castiel. 

The angel stares at him disbelievingly. _"Dean?!"_

Behind him, Dean hears the long strides of Sam getting faster and faster as he breaks into a run across the station towards them.

_Oh, this is gonna be good._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS ISN'T A REVEAL CHAPTER SORRY TO KEEP YOU WAITING SO LONG  
> THAT IS MOST DEFINITELY COMING NEXT CHAPTER  
> I just love Dean being all evil and shit and this was such a fun chapter because Dean plus no morals is just all the sass in the world and he's having so much fun and it's so long since he's had fun. If you think there should a warning for some of the more violent torture let me know, but I didn't think it was necessary.  
> Also I missed Aaron so much that I had to include him somewhere. Tracy is an OC because I had a blank on female demons still alive. Oh wait.  
> And the petrol station they're at is just a random one I looked up, I don't know where the exact location of Sam and Cas's destination is (to be revealed ;)) so I just googled a few hours away from the Bunker.  
> I think I overdid it with the brackets this chapter  
> I HOPE YOU LOVE EVIL DEAN AS MUCH AS I DO BECAUSE THERE WILL BE MORE AND IT'S GONNA BE GREAT


	9. Not What You Think I Am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> REVEAL CHAPTER IS FINALLY HERE
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
> 
> Good luck.

Sam is busy cursing the inflation rate on a bag of chips when he glances over to where Cas is stood and realises he's no longer alone.

His stomach drops. He knows the back of that head as well as he knows the front, and by the stunned look on Cas's face, it's definitely him. _He did it. He got out. I knew he would._ He drops the chips and is running before he's reached the door. 

The stretch from the store to the vending machine seems to go on forever. Sam has long legs but never long enough to get him there as quickly as he'd like to be. Dean hears him coming and turns just as he gets there and meets him in the strongest hug he can remember. Sam clings to his brother with all his might and the air rushes from his lungs in a sigh of relief. Dean hugs back with equal effort, like the last 24 hours apart had been years.

Sam gives himself a moment to soak the feeling up before reluctantly drawing away from his brother, taking his face between his hands and looking at him properly. Dean's features are relieved and hopeful, lines smoothed and eyes free of the weight and anger that they had carried the past couple of months. "Are you okay? What happened? How did you get out? Where's Crowley, that son of a bitch?"

"Woah, woah, Sam, calm down," Dean half laughs, smiling up at his brother. "It's good to see you," he says quietly.

"Yeah, you too. Jesus, Dean, what happened? As soon as I'd -" Sam broke off and went suddenly solemn. "I made a deal to bring you back, Dean. I know I shouldn't have but - well, it's what we do, isn't it? I couldn't just leave you when I knew I could do something, I had to, I'm sorry -"

"Sammy, hey, hey," Dean says, placing a hand on Sam's shoulder. "Don't worry. Crowley told me evrything that happened."

Sam nods stiffly but feels a guilt seated within him. He had made such a big deal of the fact that (he’d thought) he wouldn’t have done the same as Dean in his position with Gadreel, or Ezekiel or whatever, but Sam hadn’t lost Dean in the same way since Purgatory. That time he’d been able to move on but simply because there was absolutely nothing he could have done - nobody knew what happened when you stood too close to exploding Dick. But this time Sam had known exactly what had gone down. And this time he could do something about it. He wasn’t about to let him go so easily. He’d lost too much. He’d lost Kevin. Sam had...

"So what happened when you woke up?"

Dean takes a deep breath. "I'd barely registered that I was awake again before I was taken downstairs. Crowley explained what had gone down while I was out and told me that the first order of business was getting rid of the Blade. Guess he didn't want anyone having a fighting chance of ending him; he knows he was always next on our list after Abaddon. We'd told him enough times. He brought in some low-ranking demon who he made me transfer the Mark to. He killed them with the Blade and the Mark died with them. Without the Mark, the Blade was useless so he broke it up and sent its parts to the corners of the Earth.” Dean clenches his jaw and sighs. “So looks like we’re back to Ruby’s knife as a plan for ending him.”

“We can deal with that.” Dean looks confused at the relief in his brother’s voice. “Dean, the Blade is gone. The Mark is _gone.”_ Sam smiles and continues, more softly, “No hulking out. No running off with the king of Hell. You’re you again.”

Dean smiles at the ground and pauses. Then the silence lengthens. And lengthens.

Eventually; “Yeah… about that, Sammy…”

Sam’s gut twists. Everything suddenly feels wrong. Sam has heard Dean say his name a thousand times throughout their lives, but never quite like that. It’s dangerous. It’s sinister. And it’s terrifying.

Cas, who had been stood behind Dean simply listening because he couldn’t put words together, hears it too. He moves to stand beside Sam and there’s dread etched on his face.

Slowly, Dean raises his head and looks at them.

_No._

His eyes are black.

Cas heaves. Sam’s head swims. He pulls out Ruby’s knife. “Get the fuck out of my brother.”

But the demon just grins. “But I _am_ your brother.”

”No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

 _”NO YOU’RE NOT!”_

The demon rolls its eyes. “Well you can put that little toothpick away; even if I were possessed, you’d never kill me. You’d never end your pretty brother. But by all means, go ahead - try an exorcism, even try your old powers to see if they work; I don’t care. But I _am_ Dean. The tattered soul that was your brother is now a fully blown macho demon. You can thank Crowley for that.”

Sam can’t focus. How did this happen? He’s only been gone a day - that can’t be more than a week in Hell, how can he be a _demon_ already? It takes years. “No. Dean is in there somewhere.”

“Oh, get over it, Sammy.” His name again. It leaves a bitter taste in Sam’s mouth. “I’m your brother. I always have been. It’s just now I’m actually enjoying life rather than being a whiney repressive bitch. Another bitch once told me that becoming a demon is forgetting what you are, but I would like to take this opportunity to solemnly disagree. Maybe it’s different for me since I got a fast track, but I remember everything about my human life. Every damn detail. All the fights, all the reunions, all the times we cried on each others’ shoulders and braided each other's hair. I remember us bonding throughout our virtually fatherless childhood. The times we’ve all sacrificed ourselves for each other for no real purpose. I remember all the ‘moments’ me and Cas have shared.” He smiles sarcastically and frostily at the angel who is gazing disbelievingly up at him, expression utterly devastated. “The only difference now is that I don’t give a crap about any of it. And let me tell you, it’s fucking incredible.”

Sam swallows dryly. He doesn’t know how the contents of his stomach have stayed put. This likeness before him is so painfully Dean, every little aspect. Every motion screams that this is his brother, but he’s a twisted and tormented version and Sam can barely look.There’s a cruelness to him as had been developing with prolonged ownership of the Mark, but now it’s consumed him. And the longer Sam looks, the more he knows that Dean is right. He’s finally crossed the border.

This is it. He’s lost his brother.

That sparks an anger in him. He fought to bring Dean back but it went wrong, so wrong. And it’s all Crowley’s bloody fault. Of course it is. The only problem is, Crowley isn’t here, so Sam can only take it out on the distorted image of the brother he once loved - that he still does love. That he’s determined to get back somehow. But that’s not going to happen any time soon. And he’s angry.

“So you just wanted to fuck with us,” he spits. “You just lied to us about everything that’s happened and you couldn’t give a damn.”

Dean chuckles low and throatily. "You of all people should know that demons lie, Sam. I've been practicing that little story for the past hour, getting all the emotional hitches just right. Thought I’d make the most of the opportunity, get you nice and soft just in time for the good part. You see, I've known you all your sorry life. I know exactly how to play it to get you all emotional, get those sad puppy eyes out. And hell, I think demonhood just generally ups acting ability. But you want to know my favourite part?" Dean reaches into his jacket, grinning in a sickeningly self-satisfied manner. “When you thought this was out of the picture.” He pulls out the Blade and pull up his sleeve to reveal the Mark, which pulses with an uncontained power. “This little baby came in pretty handy when it came to bringing me back. I wasn’t going to be getting rid of it in a hurry.”

Sam curses himself to his core for not insisting harder that Dean lay off his use of the Blade. He had known it was bad news since he found out about it and now watches his brother tense as he holds his source of power, can see it run through him like an electric shock. His eyes, now back to their regular colour, are glinting with a different kind of darkness, a desire for violence and blood. Sam doesn’t want to look, doesn’t want to see what his brother has somehow become, doesn’t want to face it, _can’t_ face it -

But he has to. He holds the knife tighter, keeping it between them.

Dean only laughs. “Oh, so you want a celebrity death match now? Well that’s real wise, Sam. But I hate to be the one to tell you; mine’s bigger than yours. Plus, you know, with my being a knight and everything, that knife won’t actually do anything.” He shrugs in mock innocence and Sam can’t help the detestation that rises within him. His breath becomes harsh, he wants to end the warped image before him, but he knows he doesn’t have a chance. So, reluctantly, he lowers the knife.

Dean doesn’t pay any attention to the burning heat of Sam’s glare. Instead he smiles proudly and says, “There; that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What are you doing here, Dean?”

It’s the first time Cas has spoken. His voice is hoarse and his eyes are wet and exhausted. They’re full of the sorrow that Sam is trying not to think about.

Dean turns his amused gaze on the angel and spreads his arms wide. “Cas. Aren’t you just a poster boy for brokenness.” He takes a step towards him and tilts Cas’s chin up with the flat of the Blade, turning his head this way and that to get a good look at him. Sam can see Cas grimace as the bone and teeth dig into the soft flesh and goes to move forward, but Dean stops him with no more than a raised hand. The demon never takes his contemplative eyes off Castiel.

“Well, I gotta tell you, Cas; you’re not looking too good. How’s that grace going? Can’t be long left now. I was wondering why it took you so long to figure out what I am - with all your angel powers faded, you can’t even see my real face, right?” He takes a step closer and takes Cas’s tear-streaked face in his hand, holding it inches from his own. “Well I can assure you it’s a beauty.”

Cas has his eyes squeezed shut, unable to bear the sight of this twisted version of Dean. He tries to twist away but he’s no match.

“What _are_ you doing here, Dean?” Sam succeeds in turning Dean’s attention from Cas. 

“Oh, just wanted to check up on the family. See how you were coping with my demise - and I have to say, Sam; you are looking like crap. You’ve not even slept the past 24 hours, have you? And Cas.” He turned back to the angel in his grasp. “I really recommend you get that grace checked out. It’ll be the death of you.”

And with that Dean steps back, releasing Cas and watching him fall to the ground, coughing and convulsing, his whole body shaking. Sam drops to his knees immediately, slinging one of Cas’s arms around his shoulders. “Cas? _Cas?_ What did you do?” he shouts up at Dean, but the demon only looks on nonchalantly.

Cas curls in on himself, crying out in pain. “Dean. Do something. I know there’s something of you in there. There was in Crowley, there's got to be in you. This is a damn good time for you to give a crap again.”

Nothing.

The angel tries to hold onto Sam but he’s too weak. Sam has no idea what to do. _”Dean!_ Help him, dammit, this is _Cas!”_

“Last I checked, my kind were the ones who brought the pain, not the ones who relieved it.”

Cas slumps against him, trembling feebly. “Hey hey hey hey, come on Cas.” Sam can virtually feel the life draining from him. He shakes him, slaps his cheek repeatedly, lifts his head to get a look at him but his eyes are heavy-lidded and out of focus. Sam looks up at Dean once more in desperation. Puppy eyes and all. _”Please.”_

Dean sighs dramatically. "Yeah... One of the great things about being a demon is that when it comes to these kinds of things - what do you call them again? Oh yeah - _emotions,”_ \- the word is loaded with contempt - “I can just do this." 

Before Sam can do anything, Dean has snapped his fingers and vanished.

_”DEAN!”_

 

Almost instantaneously, and at the most inopportune moment for the person concerned, somebody else decides to join the party.

"Moose, you gotta help me."

Crowley's expression is one of innocent surprise at the sight of a surging mass of muscle rising and turning towards him and Sam's fist hurtling directly towards his face at a rather high speed. What with recent events and the fact that Dean’s motive for visiting his old companions was most likely to inform them of the situation (and undoubtedly gloat about it), he should have been expecting it, but he does not have much time to dwell on it before he falls unconscious to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it took so long for me to write this chapter (sorry again about that; I got distracted by Orange Is The New Black season 2 and my new fave ship of Dean Winchester/Jack Harkness even though I really wanted to write this. I hope it was long enough to partially make up for it. I'm still not sure it's perfect but I just wanted to post it already) I will upload another short chapter straight away. Hopefully it'll lighten the mood a little.
> 
> And sorry for all the pain in this chapter.
> 
> Actually I'm not sorry. It was great fun to write and I can't help it when I have the writer's power in my hands. This whole fic is likely to end up tragic. YAY.


	10. The Junk In The Trunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some sassy Crowley to bring down the drama levels.

Crowley eventually comes to with an aching, bruising face and no light. As soon as he tries to move, he hits something, whichever direction he trieds. He can feel the warding around him that lines the Impala’s trunk and he lies there, bound at wrists and ankles and gagged, silently fuming as he thinks _I just can’t catch a break._

This shouldn’t be happening to him. This first time was degrading enough, but a second time is just taking the piss. He’s a bloody _king,_ for God’s sake! He deserves a little dignity.

But dignity is these last thing those damn Winchesters would allow him - and that angel, who virtually counts as a Winchester himself these days. He should, he supposes, be used to it by now, but somehow they always manage to surprise him with their inconsideration. They could at least have given him a magazine or a book, something to _do_ while they were undoubtedly floundering off fighting evil. But do they even think of the captive they leave behind? No. Of course not.

And so the king of Hell thinks to himself, not for the first time and almost certainly not for the last: _Fucking Winchesters._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have plans for the next section of this fic and I'll get another chapter up asap (although Monday-Wednesday I have a Marvel marathon to attend. Can't wait :DDD)
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING SO FAR, I LOVE YOU<3


	11. Time Is Running Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been SO long since I updated D: muchos apologies and you will be getting another chapter coming tomorrow, maybe two if you're lucky ;)

Sam will never be able to explain what his head is like in this moment. How he manages to focus enough to take Cas to the Impala and drive on when his mind is full of the noise of Dean’s revelation. How he manages to think about it so much, think it over and over but still not comprehend it, not come to any kind of standpoint or clarity about the situation he's been suddenly thrown into. All he can think clearly about is the fact that he has to save his friend.

Cas spends the ride curled up on the passenger seat. He’s breathing very softly and every now and then, a bout of coughs convulses through his frail form. Small spots of blood speckle the upholstery next to him and Sam spends more time looking over at him to check he's still breathing than he does looking at the road. 

The only other sound to their journey is the dull drone of tyres on tarmac. At one point Sam hears shuffling from the trunk followed by a thump and a muffled yell of pain as Crowley hits something (hopefully his twisted little head) on the metal. 

_Crowley._ Sam can barely think his name without wanting to stop the car and slice his stupid smug face open. Scratch that, he's been wanting to tear his fucking guts out for the past year. Having him safely locked in the trunk gives Sam the most satisfaction he's allowing himself for now - he doesn't want to do anything reckless and waste the opportunity for true revenge that's now kicking petulantly at the interior. 

After what feels like hours of driving, Sam finally pulls up at the location Cas had described. Sam still can't help but marvel at the places other beings choose for their inter-dimensional portals - a damn kids' playground? _Seriously?_ But two people are sat stiffly on the bench as promised so Sam figures he has the right place.

As soon as the car stops, so do the thumps. Crowley had apparently given up any idea of breaking out almost immediately (understandable after his last visit to the trunk), but for the rest of the journey had seemed to want to hurt the Winchester pride in any way possible - and that apparently meant attacking the car. But the whole trunk is pretty heavily warded so any damage that will have been done will be to the king of Hell instead. Sam takes joy in that at least. 

Now there is an expectant silence from the back end of the Impala, but Sam ignores it and instead moves round to the passenger door to help Cas out. His coughs have been a little less frequent in the last few miles and Sam finds, with small relief, that Cas can support a little of his own weight now. He still relies heavily on Sam's supporting arms as he's lifted out of his seat, and he has no hope of forming words despite his few rasping attempts, but at least he's conscious. 

"We'll be back to deal with you in a bit, okay Crowley? You have fun in there while we're gone."

The responding _thunk_ has more attitude than Sam ever thought possible of a noise. He smiles to himself and shuffles over to the park with his friend. 

"Asariel?" he calls out.

One angel on the bench turns around, thankfully. As soon as she sees Castiel she hurries over, the other - Purah, she must be - trailing in her wake. 

"What happened?" Asariel asks in that tone that angels have mastered where they manage to sound concerned yet oddly detached. 

"I'll tell you once we get his bloody grace back," Sam snaps, partly because there is a time and a place for telling stories (and while a friend's life is in the balance is definitely not one of them) and partly because he's not ready to reiterate recent events out loud to someone else; that would just confirm them all the more. His stomach twists at that realisation but he pushes it to the back of his head with the other shit he's going to deal with later. 

Asariel nods and leads them over to the sandpit where a fascinating geometric design - which Sam would love to some day have the chance to study - is etched and within moments, light fills his vision and then he is stepping into a room full of people who are trying to look like they're doing something. Everyone turns around to train concerned eyes on their semi-conscious leader. 

"His grace is fading fast," an angel says, striding through the crowd looking flustered and in charge of the runnings at present. Hannah.

"Yeah, no shit." Sam has really had it up to here with angels. He takes a steadying breath. "Where's his grace likely to be? Has Metatron said anything about it?" Cas had filled him in on everything he knew about the whereabouts of his grace during the first stretch of their journey - he had thought the most likely place for it to be was hidden safe somewhere in Heaven.

"We have questioned the angel Metatron on it repeatedly since Castiel's departure, but to no avail."

"Dammit... Okay, let's think," Sam starts, wiping a hand over his face and willing himself to focus rather than thinking about the multiple ways he wants to end Metatron right this second. "Metatron's a... a sucker for stories, right?" he says to the room of angels staring blankly back at him. "Well that's what this whole thing has been about, right? Telling the perfect story? That's all he's had to entertain himself for the past millennia and now he wants to be the hero of his own story. He's proud of that; cocky about it, brags about it to anyone who will listen. Come on, there's got to be somewhere up here you can think of that would appeal to a douche like that," he pushes, getting desperate when nobody gives any sign of responding. 

"I- I think I might know where it could be," another angel pipes up from the back. He looks troubled as he steps forward, shoulders hunched self-consciously. 

"Really? Great; show me, show me," Sam gushes, feeling Cas's weight heavier on his shoulders by the moment. His urgency heightens and he picks Cas up in his arms before wading through the crowd. 

The angel leads Sam through to an office - remnants of the angel tablet lay scattered on the floor beside a central desk and a radio device on a table close by. _Metatron's office._ Sam takes a moment to realise that this is the first time he's witnessed the administrative sector of Heaven - last time he visited, it was as a soul. That had been a memory maze, but this place seems much more organised. 

The angel has paused and is looking warily at the radio transmitter, and Sam notices. 

"Hey, what's your name, buddy?" He fights back his haste and softens his tone. God knows Sam needs to keep these guys on his side - they weren't too fond of him last time he visited Cas. 

The angel looks back at him, surprised. "Neil."

_An angel called Neil. Of course._ "Hi Neil. What's wrong? What happened here?"

Neil takes a deep breath and drags his gaze from the radio. "I set up that device. I helped Metatron spread his Word. I didn't even think - I thought I was on the right side, I- I-"

"But hey, Neil-- the way I heard it, that device also let you all know that Metatron was a fraud. Without it, we would've been done for."

Slowly, Neil gives a minute smile.

_That's better._ "There you go. Come on, Neil; you've got a chance to put that guilt you feel to rights. You know whose side is the right one now. So let's get Cas back on his feet and set everything right. You with me?"

Neil looks Sam in the eye and nods, looking a lot more certain of himself, and with that he turns towards a generic cupboard sat against the wall. He passes his hand over it and a mechanism clicks. Cas gives a feeble wheeze and curls in closer to Sam, who holds him a little tighter and whispers, "Almost there, hang in there for one more minute, Cas." Neil opens the cupboard and steps into it -- _wait, steps into it? What is this, fucking Narnia?_

Of course it bloody it; this is Metatron. Sam follows Neil through the cupboard - or should he be calling it a fucking wardrobe? - minding Cas's head, and his own for that matter. To be honest, he's mildly surprised when there isn't a fawn stood by a snow-blanketed lamppost on the other side, but he doesn't have the time to think any more sourly on the reference. 

Their destination is somewhere much more exciting than Narnia and Sam forgets the weight of their whole situation momentarily as he gazes up at a cursive sign that reads (in Ancient Greek, with a Enochian translation below - he's been teaching himself from the Men of Letters' journals):

_

The Library of Alexandria

_

(Only Metatron had to go and ruining it by scrawling his name at the front.) Sam puts the 'lost' in there automatically as he reads the characters.

He is completely speechless. He knew Metatron had a flair for the dramatic but this takes things to a whole other level. His inner nerd leaps forward and says, "Holy. Fucking. Shit."

"I know right," Neil beams beside him.

Sam's head is about to explode. All the literature in front of him that has been lost for centuries, all that knowledge... he could easily spend his remaining years immersed in it, things that nobody in this day and age has ever laid eyes on. Plays, novels, philosophical studies, accounts, journals, science that was discovered before it's time and lost only to be rediscovered years and years later. It's too much for him to take in. His eyes are suddenly moist and he can only stutter, "What... but how - how did... _when_ -"

"I asked him once." Neil's voice is quiet and awe-filled as he gazes out at the countless rows of volumes. He might be one of the only angels Sam knows with an appropriate sense of wonder. "He was still on Earth when the Library was burned down. He was in contact with a prophet at the time who told him it was going to be destroyed, so he got his own vault built and took all the books across. Of course he was cut off from Heaven's power so he did it all himself - that's what you call dedication. He even nabbed the sign from the front door. He replaced everything with blank pages so nothing important got burned. He kept everything stashed in Asia, popping across every now and again to get a different book, until he got back to Heaven, and when he was instated he brought it all up here. He's been adding his favourites to his collection throughout the ages as well, so this is technically the most extensive library in existence. And he's read every single volume."

Sam can't do anything but gape throughout the story, but he hears Cas take a ragged breath in his arms and he has to literally shake himself into action. "Okay. Where would Metatron hide it?" _All Metatron's favourite things are here - all his stories. That's all the bastard cares about. Some people get too bloody detached from reality. Focus, Sam. Which one would be his favourite? Unless he wouldn't keep the grace with his favourite - knowing Metatron, it'd be somewhere with significance, somewhere petty probably. So who's he been trying to get one over on? Who's this all been about?_

"Oh for fuck's sake."

"What?"

"I know where it is. Neil, does there happen to be a copy of the Bible in here?"

The angel looks confused. "Uh... Yeah, there is, actually. On a shelf near the back - he didn't want to have to look at it every time he walked in. Wait, you don't think that's where -?"

Sam sighs, his suspicion sounding more likely by the moment. "Show me."

Neil leads him through and when they reach the right row, Sam lays Cas down gently on the floor. When he joins Neil in looking at the volumes on the shelf, he doesn't know if he can muster the level of exasperation needed for a sigh that accurately expresses his reaction to what he sees. He throws in an extreme bitchface for good measure.

On the shelf, nestled next the the Holy Bible, is Fifty Shades of Grey.

Neil looks extremely uncomfortable. 

Sam pushes back all manner of withering comments that come to mind - and the inappropriate ones that Dean would have come out with, although he ignores those completely - and delicately slides the leather-bound volume off the shelf. He opens it very gently, revealing the spell's ingredients where the centres of the pages should have been. They have been cut out shoddily, with little regard for the sanctity of the words - although that was probably Metatron's point: a big fat middle finger to Him by disregarding all the work he'd done as Scribe under His command. Instead of words there lies a heart - that of a Nephilim, a Cupid's bow and shimmering in a vial at the back, Cas's grace.

Sam places the volume down carefully and extracts the vial, carrying it over to Castiel with a painful amount of hope on his shoulders. "Come on, buddy, please let this work," he mutters, unstoppering the vial and pouring the swirling light into Cas's mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY WE HAVE PLOT PROGRESS YAY
> 
> I'm sure they'll do something more complex is the show with getting his grace back - as far as I can tell they're not going to reunite for a while as we won't get Sam and Cas being bezzies in the show like we _really_ should. But everything else I've heard sounds really awesome :D San Diego ComicCon is a godsend.
> 
> And just a warning: next chapter is written and full of feels


	12. This World Turns Cold And It Breaks Through My Soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from Your Guardian Angel by The Red Jumpsuit Apparatus - listen to for Destiel feels. Yay.
> 
> This is a feels chapter. It was only going to be a short one but I got a bit carried away with Cas emotions (and with imagining Misha acting it), but I'm really happy with it.
> 
> All I'll say now is good luck.

The last thing Cas remembers of 'reality' is the confrontation with what used to be Dean. The demon's cruel grip on him. And his own last desperate act: willing his grace to once more heal that broken soul.

But that damned eventually has finally come to pass; Dean is too broken for him to fix. There is no going back from the state that Cas witnesses; the soul is no longer a soul, it is twisted and tormented and dark, looming over Cas's stuttering grace and consuming it. There is no purity left, only roiling anger and spite and a will to dominate all. It contemplates Cas's small form with condescension of the highest order, laughing at the hope he holds, the love that dares to cling onto the shadow of the man that once was. Cas feels himself grow smaller and smaller, curls in on himself as his power depletes exponentially beyond his control and the darkness swallows him whole as he drops.

He can't see, through vessel or soul. But he can still feel. And that is the worst part.

He feels the eventual absence of the demon, but that somehow leaves him emptier, drained. He sits with his guilt and his sorrow and his agony weighing him down in the darkness, wondering how long it will go on. If it will ever end. If this is it after all. 

All he can think about was the ways he has failed. Over and over, time after time. He failed Sam. He failed Dean. He failed Heaven. He failed his Father. 

He failed his family. 

Even after his penance in Purgatory, it sickens him to be forgiven. Sam and Dean have forgiven him more than he had conceived anyone ever could, and each time, though Cas had begged for it, deep down he knew he didn't deserve it. Not wholly. He may have been trying to do right, whatever he was doing, but it always turned out wrong. And that was _always_ on him. Sometimes it took them a while to forgive, and that was more painful but more fitting, more proper, but somehow they eventually reformed into their dysfunctional clan. Dean had said to him that they would be enough. That they always had been.

But even that memory has been warped now. Dean's kindness in the past, his humanity, is now twisted by what he has become. Cas can barely think of him without a pain tearing through his existence, a fresh wound being salted by the lack of distraction in the dark. He yells into the emptiness, screaming until his soul is hoarse, of everything he resents, about how everything he had done had turned against him somehow, of how he had lost his best friend and never had a chance to fix it, of his regrets and angsts and doubts. He isn't even sure who or what he's screaming at. God? Himself? Oblivion? Perhaps, it dawns on him, this is how he is cursed to spend eternity. 

But it seems this is not his fate. When he can scream no longer, a voice responds from far out in the darkness and close by at the same time, from every angle. The voice surrounds him, takes him gently into its care, soothing with words that he would not be able to recall but that he knows instinctively. They lift him towards a gentle glow that fills his centre, fixes him piece by piece and gives him back his spirit. It makes him feel whole again. 

On waking, this experience feels like a dream. The most vivid dream he has ever had - his human dreams had wandered aimlessly, but this is the first such experience he has encountered whilst (just about) angelic. It's chilling. 

Sam tells him he had been in and out of consciousness, but Castiel does not remember anything of how they got here - wherever 'here' is. His mind and soul were locked away in the darkness. And as Sam talks at him, they flicker back there uncontrollably. Even as Cas's grace courses through him once more, he feels haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We will get back to slightly lighter stuff soon. But not in the next chapter.


	13. One Last Misson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo my Cas feels pulled me along like a polar bear on a dog lead and I slipped into a much-longer-than-expected Jimmy chapter. I really loved Jimmy - he made me fall helplessly in love with Misha Collins.
> 
> This chapter runs parallel to the last two - back to plot progression next chapter :)

Jimmy Novak had never expected to find himself back on Earth. He had never _wanted_ to be back on Earth. All his memories of his former home are of an unsettled time, tension in his family and throughout the world. A faith that was melted down and splattered ruthlessly across the walls. A deceived existence before he took his red pill and his eyes were yanked open and he saw the hollow truth.

But now he finds himself being dragged from Heaven for one last mission. 

It's different being a vessel to being a standalone soul. You are in the dark a lot of the time, only experiencing the pure force and power of Heaven tearing through you. It's enough to drive you mad - the constant roar of that energy in your metaphorical ears, the feeling of a complete and utter lack of control. Of blindness. 

You catch glimpses. Every now and again you hear a thought, a wave of distress or anger. Sometimes you even see the flash of a knife or the eyes of a friend or a retreating shadow. You piece together what's going on outside your sheltered view, and little by little you build a sparse web of details and fragments. After all, it's not like the angel possessing you ever acknowledges you. It has more pressing concerns than a simple soul sitting beside it; it's not going to give you a running commentary. 

After a while you learn to trust it. You let this celestial storm wash over you and become a part of you, a dull thrum of life that runs alongside your own. You learn how to piece together the other being's experiences to form a fuller picture. A scene. It has take Jimmy years to reach this stage, but once that challenge had been overcome, he and Castiel were never truly separate again. Perhaps Jimmy experiences a lot more of Castiel than Castiel experiences of him, but they have an unbreakable connection. 

This is why Jimmy doesn't really know when he died. It could have been in that house, as Castiel had stood beside the prophet and the archangel had descended upon them; it could have been in that graveyard, when his body was scattered over a two metre radius in milliseconds; it could have been when the Leviathans surged through him or when he waded out into those cold, cold waters and never resurfaced... But he became so synchronised with Castiel that it took him a while to realise that he himself was someplace else. He had been shrouded in darkness for months, years, collecting his glimpses, and at some point after one of his possible deaths he remembers seeing a familiar scene, fleeting and surreal. Going from being the only occupant of his body to being a stashed soul had felt like being forced into a dark, feverish dream, but once that became his norm, his Heaven of memories had seemed dreamlike and his life the darkness. It all merged into one. He still saw the darkness and saw a little through Castiel; his consciousness still thrummed alongside him, but bit by bit he had paid more attention to those distant dreams of the past. 

Gradually, he opened his eyes once more.

He saw his family. He was remembering reuniting with them after he had left for a year as Castiel. He relived that dinner a thousand times, because his life before that had been a lie and everything after had been a surreal and terrible. 

Castiel's life slowly became Jimmy's dreams. He would catch updates when he closed his eyes, lying in his bed beside his wife. He explored Heaven when he woke, met other souls once he managed to break from his personal box. He came across an Ash, who taught him the ropes. A Bobby Singer explained that he knew the Winchesters and Castiel - Jimmy recognised his face. He was introduced to an Ellen and Jo who, with Ash, took take care of him. He had started to feel like he had finally found a place where he truly belonged.

That was until last night. Jimmy had slept soundly in his quarters in 'The Roadhouse' until a sharp pain reminiscent of his vessel days had pierced him through his haze of contentment. His head had roared more intensely than ever and he saw black eyes and then everything was black.

All is quiet. Jimmy is curled up, vulnerable and trembling.

A voice, gentle and soothing, finds his ears. It wraps around him like supportive arms and picks him up as it tells him that there is one final mission for him. That Castiel needs him. And then he will be truly at peace. The voice helps him to stand tall and ready, prepare him for his last battle. He doesn't know what he has to do, but he is not afraid. For the first time in his life, God is with him. God is protecting him. God _needs_ him. Jimmy cannot confront God about all the times he has been absent, about all the faith he wasted. He can only perform his duty. And as he is led towards his mission, the voice whispers:

_Stay alive._

 

Reality is a punch to the gut. Actually it's a thousand punches to the gut and several heavy kicks in the face. Jimmy's body feels drained and powerless, as it has been many a time with Castiel driving, but the angel had always put it back one piece one way or another. Now though, Castiel is tiny and dormant, fading. He is the one who needs help.

The voice repeats over and over in Jimmy's mind, reminding him, _stay alive_ , and Jimmy breathes, feels oxygen fill his lungs.

He has lungs. It hits him: _he has a body again._ He feels everything; the twitch of his fingers, saliva pooling in his mouth, the brush of his eyelashes on his skin. He feels the emptiness in his stomach. The ache in his bones. The pulse pounding at his temple. He feels like he is dying. 

_Stay alive._

He wants desperately to get up and walk, to take full control of his own body once more, feel it work with him. He wants to run away, get his life back, forget all this ever happened. He wants that ignorance back just for a sweet moment. But he's paralysed. All he can focus on is breathing in and out, in and out, shallow as his breaths may be. He listens to the blood pump, steady, strong, and he makes sure he stays alive. That's all he can do right now. 

He has a vague notion of being carried somewhere, and the relief of real human contact makes him weep. He curls towards the warmth minutely and instinctively, the only motion his body will allow him.

He is laid down on the seat of a car and he curls up. _In, out. In, out. Stay alive. In, out._ He is driven for a long time - it stretches on and on and the hum of the tyres on the road soothes his mind. It helps him to calm down and bit by bit, lets him look past the pain his body is in and start to move. His fingers. His hand. The twitch of his arm, his leg. The only sound he can make is small whimpers of pain as his body creaks. He doesn't even consider talking; what would he say? His eyes open blearily at one point, and once he can distinguish past the soft pulsing light of the streetlamps, he recognises Sam. What can he say to Sam Winchester? Thank you? For what, saving the world? Taking care of Cas and his body? For being honest with him all those years ago about what being a vessel meant, even if he was too naive to listen to it at the time? Sorry for running away when they tried to help him? Sorry about his brother? What kind of comfort could anyone offer there?

He wouldn't even know how to start to make his way through all of that. So he doesn't speak. Moreover, he doesn't think his body would let him speak in its state.

When the car stops, Sam helps him out and by way of expressing everything he wants to say, Jimmy takes some of his own weight himself. His legs manage to shuffle him along to a playground of some generic description - Jimmy squeezes his eyes shut, memories of his former life flashing into his head: all the times he took Claire out to play, he and Amelia pushing her on the swings, the contentment he'd felt, the _happiness_ -

He aches for his family back more than he has in years. And now he's back in his body there's a chance he could...

_Stay alive. Stay alive for Castiel._

His breaths rasp desperately in and out of him as he fights the urge to try and run. He knows he won't get anywhere; he can't stand on his own, and he'll die from exhaustion before he gets anywhere near the car, let alone his family. And he has to stay alive. That's his mission. He's not here for his own gain. _For Castiel._

He is moved forward and then he is surround by light, burning through his eyelids. _Heaven,_ Jimmy knows when the light fades. He can feel the shift in dimension, back to where he has come from - but to a different sector. This feels much more like what Castiel had experienced; the orderly side, the administration. This is the part of Heaven where the angels are.

Jimmy registers hearing something about grace but his body is feeling heavier by the moment and his efforts are focused on staying alive more than they are on listening.

Then he is being picked up and carried through a mass of grace. With his lids shut firmly by their own weight, Jimmy slips deeper into his subconscious and can sense and see each individual grace, with Sam's soul, the human, like a blossom amidst the clinical lights. They turn their glare on him as he passes. Jimmy's own soul feels like a drooping flower leaning heavily against Sam's, with the dim light of Cas's stolen grace barely warming his petals.

They move into a new space and all Jimmy can register of reality is the low rumble of Sam's voice. Its vibrations run through him, comforting. They reassure him that life is still out there, that the molecules of his body are still real and alive. He has been so used to being an entity that he has to remind himself, convince himself that yes, he does have his body again.

Just as he begins to float back towards the surface, he feels a sudden absence. Sam has left him. His strong soul that had been Jimmy's leaning post is gone and he feels himself sink down, deep down into darkness...

But before it closes around him, Sam's soul reappears. It's bathed in the light of righteousness, and his voice coaxes Jimmy back towards life. Grace descends and Jimmy knows that his mission is almost complete.

_For Castiel._

Jimmy digs down to the fragile cocoon sheltering Cas's being, and the swirling light follows him. Gently, ever so gently, he draws back Castiel's shrouding, and presents him with the grace he has been searching for.

The transformation is incredible. The one who had been wrapped in darkness embraces the light and they surge up in a spiral of energy, reunited at last. The new light that fills every corner is warm and sensitive, the grace of an individual as opposed to the regularity of the other angels. It glows in its content and Jimmy knows his mission is complete. 

He lets out a metaphorical breath of relief and smiles as is bundled up once more and carried back to where he belongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY things are looking like they're going in a vaguely positive direction now, right? Cas has his grace back, Jimmy is off to Heaven to live with the Roadhouse lot free from the weight of being a vessel... could be looking up, right?
> 
> HAHA. WRONG. Back to Dean next chapter. That'll be fun. Eheheheheheheheh.
> 
> Edit: I HAVE JUST SEEN THE TEASER FROM COMICON AND LET ME JUST SAY HOLY FUCKING SHIT I AM EXCITED FOR SEASON 10


	14. Let No Man Bring Me Harm; I Bear The Mark Of Cain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is an alteration of a line from Awake O Sleeper by The Brothers Bright. It's a great song and they have another one called Blood On My Name (which a previous chapter was named after) and they're on lots of demon!Dean playlists on 8tracks (might even have been used in the show at some point) - go have a listen on Spotify or something.
> 
> This chapter also picks up after the reveal chapter, but next chapter will move forward.

Thirteen...

Fourteen...

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen...

Eighteen...

Nineteen, twenty...

Twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four...

After that Dean forgets to count. He generally likes to have a running total of his kills for pride's sake, but when it comes to times like these the numbers aren't so important. Purgatory doesn't care for statistics so much as it does the natural order. Ruthlessness. Purity. 

It's not that Dean is angry at the confrontation he just had - it went swimmingly in his opinion, and he had oh so much fun - it's just the persistent need to kill boiling up once more. He's lucky he didn't kill the angel; the opportunity was right there. It would've been so easy... and that's half the reason he didn't.

The other half was that after the angel was dead, Dean wouldn't have been able to do it again.

And so he finds himself here in Purgatory for the first time in a long time. All the memories of his months down here come running back to him like old friends, only things are a little different this time. He doesn't have to worry about where that bloody angel is hidden away like he used to, for a start. He doesn't stop to make friends with monsters. He's slicing through throats without any preamble - he hasn't come here to talk, to play. He's come here to relieve his need to kill. 

To an extent, he misses Benny. The vamp knew Purgatory like the back of his hand, had taught him how to hunt down here - though Dean had got on pretty well with just his instincts. Still, it had felt good to have backup, even if he couldn't trust Benny further than he could lop his head. 

Dean doesn't need back up anymore. Doesn't need a sidekick, someone to help him pick his fights. He picks them all and he wins them all. Most aren't even a fight, just a Blade to the neck. He feels the satisfaction flow through him, the primal desire driving him on kill after kill after kill. 

Despite every monster running away from him wherever he treads, he doesn't have to hunt very hard to find them. He had started by teleporting around, taking them by surprise, but that was just to get the numbers up. Now he strides through the trees like he used to, feeling the solid earth beneath his feet, feeling the stretch of his legs as he stalks prey, following his nose, following the pull of the pathetic lives he’s ending. He can smell the fear, the stench of inferiority. And when he's close to one, the Mark burns sweetly. It sizzles under his skin as the Blade bites into flesh and that warmth fuels him like nothing else ever has. 

He crouches down to retrieve a Purgatorian blade left by his latest victim and catches the scent of two creatures a little way off who are, extremely stupidly, trying to catch him off-guard. They come at him from either side and he stays low, head down, feeling the anticipation rise, until they're within spitting distance. He allows himself a grin before rising and twisting in one fluid movement, a weapon in either hand. One blade slices cleanly through a torso, carving from ribs one side to shoulder the other, but the jawbone has its teeth out and it sticks. And Dean wastes no remorse in hacking the vermin to pieces.

He glances around at the surrounding trees, warning anyone else with the same idea not to act upon it. He then sits back against a tree, positively glowing, and takes a moment to breathe. Safe to say, nothing else tries to attack him. He never knew how much he'd missed the simplicity of this place, the notion that everything is how it is meant to be, no complications, no politics. Just good old-fashioned survival of the fittest. 

He must hunt for hours, but eventually, once his bloodlust is down to a gentle simmer once more, he decides it’s about time he got back to Hell.

Dean struts through the front doors coated in mud and blood with nothing more than a smirk at all the stares he receives. Only the sound of his steps follows him down the corridor but as soon as he’s through the next set of doors, he hears the panicked whispers pick up.

He strides into the large domed space that is Hell’s control room and looks down at the demons scurrying about. He takes position on the platform the door leads onto with stairs of questionable integrity running down to his right, legs apart and hands on the rail in front of him. Power stance perfected.

_”Mornin’, fellas! How’s business?”_

Every face turns up towards him. Several jaws drop. _That’s_ the kind of reaction he likes.

“Anyone seen Crowley? I’d love to have a word.”

Silence.

“Come on, are you really so loyal that you’d get your innards hacked out of for him?” Dean’s voice is a lower, more threatening register. A layer of fear settles on top of the tension.

After a moment, a tentative voice pipes up, “O-Our king is out on an errand. He’s been gone a few days.”

“And what was this errand?”

The one who had been brave enough to speak up now looks away. After another long, expectant pause it finally mutters, “To find you…”

“What’s that?” Dean barks, enjoying himself far too much. “You shouldn’t mumble; it’s rude.”

“To find you,” it repeats, voice stronger but audibly shaky. It still can’t meet Dean’s scrutinising gaze.

“Well how about that.” If Crowley went looking for him, he most likely found Sam instead. And that giant wouldn’t have had much patience for Crowley, it’s fair to assume. If he isn’t dead already, he’s holed up in some demon-proof cell somewhere - Lord knows the Bunker has enough of them. Either way, he’s not going anywhere soon; that broadens the smile on Dean’s face.

He begins to descend the stairs and a path through the room is cleared for him before he’s halfway down. When he reaches the bottom he takes a look around, savouring the looks on everyone’s faces. “Looks like I’ve got the floor, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well well well... ;)
> 
> This was a fun chapter. Dean just has so much fun being an all-powerful demon. And the paragraph where he slices those guys up I am so proud of because it's so damn _brutal_.
> 
> I am enjoying writing tragic storylines way too much.
> 
> And I've been thinking more about the final outcome and let me tell you this is definitely not going to end happily.
> 
> HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH
> 
> Edit: I'm away on holiday for a week so probably no updates, but if you're lucky I'll be writing the next part ;) I'll update whenever I can!


	15. Déjà Vu

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo I have wifi on holiday and you're getting another chapter a little early. Back to plot now. Go crazy ;)

"Get him back."

Crowley is sighing derogatorily before he's even fully conscious. _Bloody. Fucking. Winchesters. They're so predictable. Let me guess; chained back to that infernal chair in the dark with nothing but my own wit and these oafs to keep me company - check._ He blinks up at Moose and can't even bring himself to mock his height. He's _that_ done.

"And achieve what? Eternal happiness? World peace? A sense of self-worth for you losers? I don't get why you're so insanely co-dependant. 'Ooh, Daddy was mean to me when I was little! My brother is the only family I ever really had! All my friends die, but at least I can always bring my brother back when _he_ dies!' Guess what: _you two are not the centre on everyone's universe._ It's about time you got over that fact and let all us other people get on with our own lives rather than dragging us into yours all the time. Don't expect us to solve your shit every time you fuck up."

Crowley isn't surprised to get socked in the jaw. He spits blood to the side as Sam paces away, fuming. Crowley gets to see the whole room - yup, the same hole as last time. Somehow it seems even darker and dingier. Castiel sits in a corner, hands holding his ankles and eyes distant. His entity's wholeness is back, but somehow he still looks lost.

"Hello there, darling Cas," Crowley calls, switching back to his usual flirty tactics. In his experience, it never hurts to lighten the mood a little. And divert the subject of conversation away from him. "You've got a little more life in you than when I last saw you. That grace of yours fix you back up again?"

Cas only looks up at him sullenly. "What did you do to him?"

It was worth a try. "I'd say I've expanded his mind. It's awfully eye-opening to experience how the other half lives."

Sam scoffs bitterly. He's leaning against the wall in front of him with his arms crossed and a hateful look on his face that Crowley doubts will diminish any time soon. "So what, you just snapped your fingers and he came back fully-blown demon? I thought it took years?"

"It does. Being king of Hell has its perks, but not even I can make a demon out of thin air. You have Cain to thank for that."

Sam slams a fist against the metal wall behind so hard that it shakes through the room with a tremorous _clang_. Cas jumps where he sits and looks down at the floor as Sam paces, jaw clenched, nostrils flared and a mixture of anger and self loathing swimming in his eyes. No doubt he had been more cautious than Dean when it came to the Mark and the Blade, probably tried to warn him against using it when he recognised the symptoms. _What a mess the inside of his head must look right now,_ Crowley muses.

"In all fairness..." Crowley starts tentatively, praying this is a reasonable time to try and save his own bacon. "I had no idea things would go this far -"

_"Bullshit."_

Maybe not then. He takes a breath a tries again. "I didn't even know whether the Mark _would_ bring him back, it's always just been a rumour, no way to prove or disprove it." Sam's glaring at him venomously. "I thought it was worth a shot. And if I hadn't worked, _then_ you would've been top of my list for getting him back with yet another bloody deal. At least I'd have one Winchester soul safely in my possession either way."

"What do you mean?" Sam's voice has dropped dramatically in register, and Crowley thinks that he would much sooner not be tied to a chair in the same room as an increasingly pissed off Winchester, but he's gone and done it again. He really needs to keep a lid on his mouth sometimes. "You _did_ make a deal with me, Crowley."

"Well, yes..."

"What the hell are you playing at here?" Sam hisses, hands on the arms of Crowley's chair and face obnoxiously close to his. 

"I... may have sealed your soul in a deal for no technical outcome." Crowley says this in a rush and cringes back, hoping to get the pain out of the way quickly. 

Sam's gun is pressed against his temple with astonishing pressure -

_"SAM!"_

Castiel's voice is strong and commanding and in an instant, the gun is pulled away. Crowley dares to open his eyes and the two are stood above him, Cas's hand gripping Sam's wrist and keeping the gun pointing down. They have some kind of stare-off before Sam jerks away and stands with his back to them, fuming silently.

Castiel turns his attention back to Crowley. "Break his deal. Now."

Crowley makes a noise of protestation. "It's not _my_ fault he didn't state the terms -"

The tip of an angel blade burns beneath his chin. "Do not test me too," Castiel warns. "Break his deal and we'll let you go."

"Oh we're not letting him go, not this time," Sam butts in, tone threatening. "I've let him slip by too many times; I'm not making the same mistake again."

Crowley eyes them carefully. "So what's in it for me if I break your deal?"

Sam's answering smile is loaded with contempt. "My gratitude."

Crowley huffs and can't help but give Sam a look that says _now that's simply not fair, is it?_ but curses his automatic expressive tendencies when the gun is shoved in his face again.

"You really want to push this?" Sam spits.

Crowley knows he has to back down from this at some point, and he'd rather not get shot in the face before that happens. He's rather fond of his face.

He eventually sighs in resignation and snaps his fingers. "Eradicated."

Sam scrutinises him for a moment longer, unconvinced. Crowley doesn't break but says, "I never lie, Sam, you know that. Trust me; I'm not going to come knocking for your soul in a few years."

"Oh you won't be around in a few years." This time he pulls Ruby's knife out, but Castiel cuts him off with the raise of his hand.

"What else can you tell us about what's happened to Dean?"

"What do you want to know?" Crowley replies easily, really hoping that if he co-operates enough he might make it out in more or less one piece.

"What's he been doing? I take it you've been keeping a close eye on him."

"Barely needed to. We're virtually bezzies these days." Just because Crowley was giving them information, it didn't mean he had to bruise his reputation in the process. And they'd seen what Dean was capable of now - maybe if they thought Dean and himself were still tight, it'd give him a bit of protection if he manages to scrape out of this alive. Maybe. "He's been helping me clean up the mess Abaddon left me with. Sorting out the squealers."

Sam's fury flares once more and Cas's mask of power and control slips a little as it settles in his mind: _torture._

It's Cas's turn to punch him now. Crowley spits blood to the side again. But the other side this time, just to keep things even.

 _"Why?"_

There's a venom is Castiel's voice that Crowley knows is very very dangerous, but he can't stop himself. "The Mark can only be inherited by those with a similar darkness in their soul to Cain himself. It's in his blood. His destiny. Whatever you want to call it - this has always been inside him. It's just now he's getting a real chance to show it. And he's got talent, let me tell you."

Castiel had turned around but he whirls back now, angel blade in hand, to tear a deep angry gash in Crowley's cheek. Crowley chokes down a yell of pain and looks up at his attacker in shock. Even Sam is staring. He sees in Cas's eyes that he's broken and furious as he asks, voice strained, "So where is he now?"

"Probably on his way here as we speak." Crowley tries to muster as much confidence for that statement as possible, talking through the searing pain in the side of his face. But apparently it's not enough. 

"Probably?" Sam hones in, narrowing his eyes. "I thought you two were inseparable."

Crowley must pause for too long before saying, "We are," because a knowing smile slides into place on Sam's face. 

"No you're not. I take it he gets all the usual demon perks like the teleportation? In which case, if he knew we had you, why isn't he already here to save your sorry ass? He's one of two other people alive..." Sam's mind drifts to some tortured place for a moment, but he refocuses quickly. "...who knows where this place is; he'd be here in a second. On top of that, when you found us, you were panicking like shit." Sam gives a contemptuous snort before concluding, "You don't have any kind of control over him whatsoever, do you?"

Crowley is in the process of desperately searching for some kind of profitable response that will wipe the smug smirk off the Winchester's mug when they hear it.

_Knock. Knock. Knock._

Crowley takes the opportunity to smile indulgently. "Speak of the devil."

He may be cocky on the outside, but inside, Crowley is a copy of the dread on his captives' faces. In fact he's willing to bet his dread runs far deeper. He can only imagine what the knight has been up to while he's been in the dark, and Crowley doesn't have to imagine much to come to the conclusion that Dean has come here with one sole reason.

This isn't going to end well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think that should be the amended title of this fic.
> 
> More to come soon - only 5 chapters left!


	16. Meet The New Boss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains graphic depictions of violence and torture, much more than the rest of the fic so far. I got a bit carried away having read part 2 of the man on the bridge (by boopboop - if you have any kind of emotion towards Bucky Barnes and haven't read it then go and read the whole series now, it's incredible) and listening to various demon!Dean and Hannibal playlists on 8tracks whilst writing this chapter. I think I'm addicted to writing/reading pain.

Sam's internals are churning. As soon as he steps out of that chamber, his heat melts to a chill and the rage that had fuelled him is dulled by the deafening silence of the Bunker. 

He takes a moment to lean against a wall and get his head straight. _Come on, Sam, pull yourself together. This is happening right now whether you like it or not. Don't let Crowley get to you - you need to focus now._ He takes a deep, steadying breath before heading towards the door, Ruby's knife in hand. God, this is all kinds of messed up. 

He stands behind the door, allowing himself the small hope, if only for a moment, that it's not his brother on the other side. Maybe it's just a person whose car broke down just along the road. A passing rambler who needs to use their facilities. A bunch of kids who've heard the place is haunted and came to check it out, as they always do. _For fuck's sake Sam, suck it up; this is your brother and you know it. So deal with it. You're going to have to at some point._

He opens the door impossibly slowly. Sure enough, there stands his brother, thumbs in his belt loops and one leg crossed casually in front of the other. He looks up at Sam with an amused smirk like he's laughing at his own private joke, and his eyes are cool. They take in the knife in Sam's hand and he tuts. "Come on, Sam; is that any way to welcome your brother?"

"You're not my brother." Sam tries to keep his voice even but he can feel a desperation rise within him once more as he meets this demon's eyes. His guts are contorting inside of him but he forces himself to look on. 

Dean brushes him off and says, "Well you can put it away. For a start, we both know I'm the better fighter; plus -" He reaches behind his back, arm muscles exposed by a simple t-shirt and rippling threateningly, and draws out the First Blade so the handle peeks out above his hip. "Mine's bigger than yours." He slots it back into place with a sickening level of confidence on his face when Sam doesn't contradict him. "And besides, I'm not here to fight. No matter how amusing it'd be."

Sam clenches his jaw against the urge to slam the knife into Dean's cocky head, instead managing to hiss, "So what do you want?"

He grins again. "Crowley. Need to have a chat about a little... regime change." 

That doesn't bode well with Sam at all, and for a moment he considers denying that Crowley is there simply out of habit of protecting potential victims, but then remembers that he would actually love to see Crowley get the shit ripped out of by Dean, demonic or not. The change of state seems to have upped Dean's wit and sarcasm as well, which Sam didn't think was possible but would make it an extremely entertaining revenge. Besides, this is likely to be the only time soon Dean will waltz into their lives, supposedly without the intention of killing them. He pushes all other hesitation aside and opens the door so Dean can enter, keeping Ruby's knife held tight. The familiar curves of the handle dig into the flesh of Sam's hand, centring him as he follows Dean down the stairs. 

"Same hole as last time?" Dean asks, crossing space in long strides and turning back to face Sam, walking backwards up a few steps with an easy grace while he waits for a response. Sam nods, ignoring the blatant display of superiority as Dean swings back round with a grin and an incredibly delicate skip up the last couple of steps. One of the scariest things about it is that his footfalls are virtually inaudible; demonhood apparently allows one to inherit ultimate stealth as well as an alarming lack of morals. Or in a case such as Dean's, at least; Lord knows demons aren't always the most subtle of beings. 

Sam is starting to regret letting Dean in here at all. His eyes linger on the Blade poking out from the back pocket of Dean's jeans, swinging with the sauntering hips before him, and Sam pushes down the idea to grab it and push it through Dean's back on the basis that he simply wouldn't be quick enough. And Sam gets the sense that Dean has made it so visible for just that reason. 

The doors to Crowley's chamber had been left a little ajar, rendering the demonic warding virtually redundant. Dean slams the doors open wide and strides in with an air of purpose and authority, and Sam notices his flesh sear when it comes into contact with the wards themselves. Dean doesn't seem to care; if anything, he savours the burn of it.

Sam's stomach drops a little further and he follows him in. 

Cas has retreated back to his corner of the room to glare into the gloom and presumably give deadpan, unhelpful answers to any small talk Crowley felt the need to tease him with, but as Dean enters he stands up straighter, eyes wary and hand ready to catch his blade should the need arise. As Sam joins him, he sees a fear deeper in his eyes where they linger on Dean - understandable after their last encounter. Sam places a hand on his shoulder and reassures him that Dean only has business with Crowley - at least for the moment. Cas's troubles do not seem eased, but he leans back against the wall once more and lets his hand relax, eyes never leaving Dean. Sam settles next to him, ready to watch this all unravel.

Dean scuffs open the devil's trap with the toe of his apparently recently acquired Doc Martens before stepping into it and spreading his arms wide. "Crowley." His smile is wider than Sam has seen it in years. 

"About time," the 'king' hisses. Clearly he's still holding out on this being a rescue. Sam smiles to himself. "Where the Hell have you been?"

Dean raises his eyebrows in mock offence. "What, a guy can't take some time off to visit his family? That's a damn tight ship you're running," he tuts.

Crowley is clearly in no mood for playing. "I take my eyes off you for one minute and you're gallivanting off playing your _food?"_ He glances across at Sam and Cas, who are clearly still alive and kicking. "What happened?"

Dean shrugs. "I wasn't hungry enough for moose." Crowley smirks proudly despite himself and Dean grins back. He even grins over at Sam, wiggles his eyebrows and then looks genuinely affronted when Sam shoots him the bitchface of a lifetime. "What? Someone's got to pick up the nickname - it's too good to lose."

Crowley's amusement slips. "What do you mean, 'pick up'? _I'm_ never going to stop using it. It's brilliant." There's a betrayal of the foreboding he must be sensing, because not even Crowley is stupid enough to neglect to realise that this is not a rescue mission.

Dean turns back to him. "Yeah..." He leans in close to Crowley, crowding the only space he has. "But see, the thing is... you're not gonna be around much longer to use it." Dean shrugs easily but his voice is dark and Sam can feel the atmosphere drop dramatically in temperature even from across the room.

Crowley panics.

"You wouldn't." His voice is barely a whisper, his voice torn between one last desperate threat and terror. "You can't. I'm the _king._ I have a kingdom to run. People to govern -"

"Oh come on, can you really call them people?" Dean's voice had grown detached. Sam has seen Dean torture before, hundreds of times, even after his first round of Hell, but he can tell it was never like what he's about to witness. Part of him grows uneasy. He buries it. "Sure, they used to be people, but even they've forgotten that. They're minions at best. They don't care who rules them - they don't _want_ to be ruled. They follow out of fear more than anything else. For personal gain. To get higher up the rankings. You think any of them believed in you? Half of them went running off to Abaddon at a moment's notice because she was stronger than you. She was more ruthless. Instilled more fear. You got rid of her, eventually - it took the help of _humans,_ but you got there eventually. But now it's happening all over again.

"That truth of it is they're not scared of you anymore. Not as scared as they are of me. It's taken me a little while to get my bearings - thanks for giving me the tours of everything to do with how things are run down there and giving me the chance to set a reputation for my bloodlust and torture abilities by the way, real gracious of you - now all I have to do to take charge is... well, tell everyone that it's happening, which is already sorted... and get rid of you."

Crowley's done. His mouth is slack and his eyes are resigned. Something tells Sam he knew this was coming. 

But Sam doesn't have much time to think about the demon in the chair. He's slack-jawed himself; Dean hasn't laid a finger on his subject, but his words have broken him already. The words themselves raise a panic somewhere in him, but that doesn't seem important right now; Dean had always taken a certain joy in hacking of heads, but it scares Sam to see him so eloquent in this kind of talk. He's damn glad he's not the one in that chair, but on the other hand he is so very glad that Crowley is the one who is. The bastard has had this a long time coming.

Dean straightens up and Sam shifts. "Now," his brother growls, removing the Blade smoothly from his pocket and aligning it with careful precision under Crowley's chin. "Where shall we start?" He turns minutely towards Sam, making deliberate eye contact. "Anything you want to get off your chest before I get going, brother?"

Sam feels Cas's surprised gaze on him as he steps forward. He's surprising some voice in the back of his head, but that guy's being drowned out by the blood pumping in Sam's ears, making him heady with revenge. It's from a distance that he hears his voice say, "Where do I begin? Giving us the Colt when you knew it wouldn't work on the damn _Devil?"_

"How about making us your bitches so we could get Sammy's poor soul back when you had absolutely no way of doing so?"

"Turning our friend against us for Purgatory which ended up killing him. Taking Kevin from us."

Crowley has the decency to look remorseful of that, but he's nowhere near humble enough for Sam's liking. He takes several steadying breaths before continuing. "You've screwed us over countless times and you've well outlived your welcome." An odd satisfaction runs through him when he glimpses Dean nodding in agreement out of the corner of his eye.

Crowley carefully breaks away from Sam's glare and looks up at Dean. "Why are you doing this? Why are you letting _him_ do this?" He tilts his head in Sam's direction.

Dean smiles nastily, folding his arms across his chest. "You of all things should know that you never quite forget what your human life was like. All the resentments from back then are what boil up and fuel your cynicism and hate as a demon. Unluckily for you, those memories are still fresh in my mind, and a large chunk of them involve you being a selfish demonic dick to me and my family, so forgive me if I think the satisfaction deserves sharing." He grins now, eyes darkening. "It has been a hell of a hard time not stabbing you in the back every time you walk in front of me, but believe me," - his voice takes on a venomous quality - "this is going to make it very much worth it."

Something makes Sam glance back to Cas, some rational part of him needing to check that this is the right thing to do. The angel looks absolutely torn. The morality in him is fighting but then he looks over to Dean and sees the corruption and horror in those black eyes that Crowley has put there and he looks back to Sam, then eventually nods with resolution. 

It's at that moment Dean takes note of the gash across Crowley's cheek. He takes the other demon's jaw in his hand and inspects the wound. "Now who did that, I wonder? Looks angelic to me."

He looks over at Cas properly for the first time. The angel meets his gaze steadily. "Fully-blown angelic, as well. I gotta say, Cas, you're looking damn fine now you got your mojo back. Positively glowing, in fact. Man, the things I could do with the power in those veins..."

"Oh quit flirting, you tw-"

Crowley's impatience is cut off as Dean simply brings the fingers of one hand together to imitate a closed mouth, eyes never leaving Castiel. He casually shrugs off everyone's reaction saying, "Just something I learnt from Cain. Useful, huh?"

Cas looks like he's about to either throw up or sob but somehow he doesn't. He holds the gaze of those shining black eyes like he means to forever.

After a long moment, Dean turns back to his subject. Sam looks to Cas, making sure he's okay before turning back as well - but not before seeing the plain despair there.

"Now," Dean resumes. "Take a good look, Sammy. This cut is angelic and I can tell that from the long, smooth gouge marks from that kind of blade, right?" He glances towards his brother and Sam's gut twinges. They could be standing over the Impala for the memories this drags up, but this is a whole different fucked up situation. But for some reason, at this moment, that doesn't matter to Sam. He stares at Crowley and nods numbly, following his brother's lead once more. "That kind of blade leaves a different kind of blaze. I can see it, gauge its energy, - it's beautiful, let me tell you - but even though you can't, you're subject still feels the difference between a pure wrathful burn and one like this." He turns Crowley's face and places the Blade against the flesh of his other cheek, matching the angle to mirror the original cut. The bone bites deep and Crowley struggles, unable to shout out, but Dean lets out a satisfied breath. "There's a bite to this Blade." His voice has a twisted wonder to it. "Hell has never been as perfect as Heaven, but sometimes that rawness of the dark holds a lot more power. This digs in, dragging through the flesh and scraping to the bone. It feels _real."_ He gives a soft laugh. "And that's just the sharpened side."

Sam eyes the teeth, his gaze drifts down to the glowing Mark. He takes Ruby's blade from his pocket and before he knows it he's sliced of Crowley's tie and top button and exposed the flesh at the base of his neck. He holds the knife to the underside of his collarbone. "How about this one?"

Dean chuckles. "This one's a little firecracker, sparks all over the place. Packs a neat little punch."

Sam drags it across the skin, which stutters out an electric pain as Crowley's muscles spasm before blooming red.

"Satisfying, wasn't it?" Dean's voice is barely more than a whisper. "We must've wasted so many with just one chop or stab when we could've taken the time to give them what they deserved, just like this. Damn shame."

Sam feels the wrongness of all of this deep down, he really does. But he wants Crowley to feel all the shit he's put them through, feel the agony he feels knowing his big brother has become this monster, and who better to provide the agony than that monster itself? The cruel irony Crowley must be detesting right now brings a smile to Sam's lips but he never feels it reach his eyes. "Well we'd best not waste this opportunity, then."

Dean smirks his approval and moves round behind Crowley's chair, leaning down to talk into his once-superior's ear. "You just sit tight, little guy. If you're lucky, we won't stretch this out over weeks. Unlikely, but... you can hope." Dean runs his thumb and forefinger, squeezed together, across Crowley's lip as though opening a zip. "Go ahead," Dean murmurs.

Crowley opens his mouth a little, clearly wanting to say something sarcastic or bitter, but for the first time since Sam met him, he holds back. He gulps, eyes flickering between Sam's steady gaze and the direction of Dean's voice, and closes his mouth again.

Dean grins and ruffles Crowley's remaining hair as he straightens up and heads towards the shelves by the door stacked with a myriad of torture instruments. He opts for a flask of good old-fashioned holy water. "Simple can be very effective," he says by way of explanation. He brandishes the Blade as he walks back to the centre of the room and casually slices down Crowley's front, breaking through both fabric and skin and leaving a long red gash. Dean unstoppers the flask and presses its metal rim to the top of the wound, teasing out a trickle of holy water that runs its way down the perforated skin agonisingly slowly. 

Crowley hisses as his flesh steams, teeth clenched and eyes screwed shut, but when Dean relents he finds his voice. And he laughs.

"That all you got for your old king? Come on, Dean, I know you've got more than that."

Dean is smiling once more. "You of all people know that I'm only just getting started."

Crowley looks like he knows that the last person in any dimension he should be taunting right now is Cain's heir, but he just can't let himself go down without a fight, not now he's opened his mouth. "Then why don't you get on with it already? I expected my death to be a lot more painful that this."

Sam grabs Crowley's wagging face and holds his jaw open, taking the holy water from Dean and pouring it down his throat. It's a little scary how satisfying the choking sounds bubbling up from the demon's gullet are, and the chokes slip into gurgles as Dean steps up beside Sam and empties a steady stream of salt into that gaping mouth. Crowley's eyes roll back as his mouth steams, and Sam feels the bottle drain. He sloshes the last of the water over Crowley's face just for fun and releases him.

The demon's eyes are red and angry as he coughs and splutters, yelling curses as he spits out bloody, salty globules. He sits hunched forward for a long moment, breath rasping in and out. It fills the room like sweet music. 

He eventually manages; "That's more like it."

Dean preps a syringe of holy water, tapping the air to the top and pressing the plunger gently. The spurt of water that comes out he catches on his tongue with a hiss before plunging the needle deep into the side of Crowley's neck. He pauses before pushing down, leaning close to Crowley again. "How's that feel, huh? Just sat there, a single drop sizzling inside you?" His voice is low and dangerous, eyes distant. Gently, his thumb presses. "Oh that's more like it," he murmurs at the responding shudder. "That fire running through your veins, spreading to every inch of your pathetic vessel, making you _burn."_

Sam crouches down, pushing back Crowley's bloodstained shirt and trailing his knife over the exposed skin with curiosity, noting the differences between contact and breaking skin and even digging deep and eliciting agonised groans from their subject. Literal salt in the wounds makes it even better

Dean grins down at him. "Having fun there, Sammy?"

Sam smiles and looks up into Crowley's bloodshot eyes. _More fun than I've had in a hell of a long time. I've waited for this day for longer than I care to think. And I'm doing it with my brother. This is what we were really being trained for all those years - this is what it came down to. Revenge._

Sam doesn't say any of this but he can tell that Crowley sees it, plain as day.

Dean shifts suddenly, turning his gaze to his left. Sam follows it to see Cas walking towards them. Something's changed in his expression and there's a detachment to it, much as he's seen on Dean's and would in his own if he looked in a mirror. Cas stops as he reaches Dean and directs his gaze pointedly at Crowley before looking back up into Dean's curious eyes. "There's something I'd like to do. Do you mind?"

Slowly, Dean shakes his head. A smile lingers on his lips as he watches Cas retreat towards the equipment and soon return with a fistful of lengths of metal. Sam stands up and watches with a similar interest as Cas stands before Crowley and says, "Twice I've watched you use these on my friends. I had to watch them suffer, even if only their bodies, but it only seems fitting that I get to see them used on you in return."

Crowley looks ready to pass out as Dean holds his head steady. Cas takes the first spoke and pierces the demon's temple, a helpless yell echoing round the chamber as it runs through his skull. Something in Sam flashes back to this situation, him in Crowley's place, the king of Hell leaning over him, taunting the angel within him, the agony, the pure _agony_ as those spokes went in, one after the other, tearing at his mind and twisting deep, and he can only suck in a breath and blink rapidly as it sinks in. _Holy fucking shit, what are we doing?_

Neither Dean nor Castiel seem to notice his sharp intake of breath - Cas has littered Crowley's head with a halo of metal, and Dean is leaning in, watching with wonder. As Sam watches, their eyes meet over the horrific art and their gazes hold. And hold. And hold. 

It's Cas who inches his face closer to Dean's, and Sam can hardly believe what is happening - that it's happening _now_ of all times. Cas raises a hand slowly to Dean's face and slides it gently round into his hair, and the angel closes his eyes -

Dean jerks back with a yell and eyes flashing black with a fury in them. Cas jumps a little, but nowhere near as much as Sam. Crowley's head had fallen back onto the chair back with a loud crack.

"What did you do?" Sam asks, looking between Cas and Dean with panic. He had been planning on getting on Dean's wrong side later rather than sooner.

Cas straightens up with a look of guilt. "I branded a pentagram onto his skull. He won't be able to move."

Sam gapes for a good long moment, impressed but aching at the look on his friend's face.

Then Crowley groans softly.

The two of them turn to him. They both know this has gone on long enough. There's only one thing left to avenge.

They stand side by side, Sam with the knife and Castiel with his blade. Crowley looks like shit, but not so much so that he can't look up at them and sigh - wheeze - in the the most derogatory fashion he can muster as Sam says, "This is for what you've done to our brother."

Their blades pierce the demon's heart as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY I DON'T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME EVERYTHING JUST WENT EVIL AND OH MY GOD THIS WAS SO SATISFYING I JUST LOVE IT WHEN MY BABIES LOSE IT AND GO DARKSIDE AND IT JUST KEPT COMING AND THIS CHAPTER IS SO LONG FOR ME BECAUSE YAY DARKNESS BUT TRULY SORRY SO SORry
> 
> ALSO I REALLY LOVE CROWLEY AND I'M SO GLAD HE SURVIVED SEASON 9 BECAUSE I REALLY DIDN'T EXPECT HIM TO AND I HOPE HE DOESN'T DIE IN SEASON 10 BUT I FELT IT NECESSARY TO KILL HIM AGAIN I AM SO SORRY
> 
> The next chapter will probably be fairly long too and probably also pretty intense. God help us all.
> 
> Update: I'm sorry the next instalment has taken over 2 weeks, back to school has been hectic but it will be coming soon!


	17. The Taller You Are, The Harder You Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been almost a month and I cannot apologise enough - A2s have kinda had to take precedence. But this will definitely be finished by the season 10 premiere, and this chapter is nice and long to make up for the wait.
> 
> Tbh it's still not quite how I wanted it in some aspects but I finished writing it and didn't even bother to beta properly (apologies for any typos or grammatical errors) I just wanted to post it so you guys know I hadn't just given up on it.
> 
> (Also I have written a couple of fics since I posted the last chapter concerning Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes and Captain Jack Harkness. Visit my works if you fancy having a read (Y)
> 
> ALSO I've started making 8tracks playlists - [here](http://m.8tracks.com/midnightecho/predator) is a demon!Dean one I did and am really proud of and is great for listening to reading this fic so go listen
> 
> okay I'll let you read the chapter now)

Cas can't stand to look in those eyes a moment longer. He withdraws his blade sharply before turning and marching out of the door, only pausing momentarily to let Sam out behind him before slamming the metal closed and slumping against it.

Those eyes stay with Css whether his own are open or squeezed shut - the furious flare of black, the sudden anger in a face that had once been familiar twisting it to something monstrous... the hint, only made visible to Cas, that he was slightly impressed.

"...Cas?" Sam asks tentatively, a hand hovering by Cas shoulder, unsure. 

He has to get some space.

"I'm sorry, I... I need to..." he manages to choke out before stumbling away, desperate to get out of the suddenly stifling heat and into open air. He manages to stumble up the stairs and out the door, head swimming and the cold of the outside world meets him in a welcome gush.

He sits outside on the grass for what must be hours. He feels the cool air rush in and out of his body's lungs and his heartbeat calms him, slowing as the tension gradually leaves his body and the tears dry on his cheeks. He doesn't know what to do with himself other than sit and let it wash over him, sink in slowly, every awful thing that had occurred in that room.

He doesn't know how he had managed to hold back so long. Yes, Crowley had deserved every inch of what he got but... watching the twisted rekindling of Sam and Dean's brotherhood had been deeply, horribly unsettling. He'd felt it in the pit of his stomach. 

Part of him even feels bad for what he did. He tells himself over and over, Dean is a _demon_ , he's one of the things we hunt now, we can't afford to give him the benefit of any doubts; we have to try and save him, but until we can, we have to be solid. He knows every weakness of ours, knows how to turn it all against us. Cas knew that Sam had almost let himself believe that things weren't quite as fucked up as they had seemed, had let himself experience the dynamic he'd had with Dean for years before and Cas is sure that part of Sam is desperately fighting to believe that part of his brother is in that demon, a part that can flip the switch back any moment, but they both know that isn't true. Cas had kept the knowledge that _this isn't our Dean_ at the front of his mind as he faced this imposter with his friend's face and used his fleeting affection against him. It had still hurt like hell. 

A time comes when Cas just wants to block all this out. He tunes into the waves, browsing until he finds something that blocks out his thoughts. 

A few hours into the darkness, Cas hears the soft steps of Sam and vaguely acknowledges him sitting to his left and staring out at the rest of the world with him, neither of them seeing anything. Cas doesn't know what Sam has been doing inside, but it's not sleeping, tired though his eyes appear. If Cas were to ask, he would be told that Sam had been reinforcing every sigil in the Bunker, using ones he's found in the Men of Letters' journals just to be certain, scrawling anything he could think of so that they don’t lose their brother again. He'd know that Sam had had to start at the chamber that was now Dean's, having to shut out every manipulative word that streamed from the demon's mouth, cursing and chiding him, teasing him, taunting him, provoking him and even attempting empathy at one desperate point. It had been relentless but Sam had stood there and taken it as he painted, jaw locked and, at the worst of times, tears leaking forth without permission. That's why his eyes are red and puffy and he seems impossibly tense, a roiled-up mass of negativity. It’s painful to see.

Cas reaches out to press two fingers gently to Sam’s temple, sharing the waves. Sam closes his eyes in gratitude, brows drawing together as he slumps forward a little in exhaustion, both physical and mental. Eventually his breathing calms and the tension slips from his frame.

The world is beautifully simple from where they sit. With their backs to their struggles, their view is a single road and open country, topped by miles of sky. There is a comfortable quietness to it, a sense of dozing, of life resting. Cas can feel the gentle motion of the sleeping wildlife, the trees swaying, and all the way up he can glimpse the power of the distant stars, sharing a soft light with this land. It's not like the streets of the city that Castiel had tried to sleep amongst when he was human that had a permanent buzz about them, like a pulsing vein that never stopped pumping energy. Out here is quite different; out here is a pause. 

The morning sun is rising by the time either of their ticking minds are remotely ready to face what they know they must. They rise as one and a weight is heavy on their shoulders as they walk towards the door in the pale light. The clunk of the locks runs cold down to Cas' bones. 

Inside is silence. A terrible, deafening silence - no sense of life, no pause. This is a complete stop, and it sets Castiel's heart thumping with nerves. As they stand in the doorway, peering into the gloom, Cas feels like this is the last place he wants to be, but they have to do this. They have to.

Everything stays quiet as they walk through the Bunker, and they pause outside the door to Dean's cell. The paint of the fresh sigils is still a little wet, Cas notices before he looks to Sam and Sam looks back, they nod to one another reluctantly and enter. 

The first thing Cas sees is those eyes. They shine out of the darkness of the cell, steady and challenging. They follow Sam as he paces forward, drags the late king from his throne and dumps him unceremoniously on the floor. The only emotion that registers on his features besides careful analysis is the small twitch of the corner of his lips as Sam moves behind him and drags him round to sit.

He puts up no struggle; being unable to move independently, there's no point. Instead he laughs softly as iron shackles are clamped around his wrists and ankles, shifting in his seat as though settling in for the night. He stretches his neck, head reaching for each shoulder in turn, before gazing up at them expectantly, eyes black and mocking and that smirk still in place. 

"So what now, huh? You gonna keep me shackled up down here until you need me? Till you need some other nuisance killing? Till you feel vaguely content with your life and need reminding of the shit you've let happen? Not that I'm complaining about the whole demon thing - I was absolutely loving it up until the point you got me stuck," he fires in Cas' direction, "but it's all too easy to read that you're both blaming yourself for what's become of your precious brother's precious soul."

He sits back and waits for a reaction, his smugness ripe for a punching. 

Cas makes sure to keep a neutral expression but on the inside his guts twist at the blunt and brutal truth that he had been trying not think about - that he's let his family down once more. Knowing that Sam is feeling the exact same thing helps him to share the load for once, though, and in the careful look Sam shoots him he finds the strength to look past the familiar mask of the demon before them and see it as just that. He won't have to put up with this creature much longer, and responding to its jibes will only increase the pain of this process.

Silently, Sam retrieves a medical syringe from the stores and Dean gives a low, indulgent chuckle.

"I thought this might be the plan."

Sam places the needle to his forearm.

"We both know that this isn't going to end well for you, Sam."

The needle pierces the skin. Sam doesn't flinch.

"Come on, what happened to you being the less self-sacrificial one?"

Blood fills the syringe.

"Those trials essentially killed you last time; what makes you think it's worth trying to cure me instead when you're not even strong enough to make it to the end?"

The plunger reaches its limit. Sam blinks. 

"And just for the record, I'd like to change the term 'cure' on that damn tablet. Becoming a demon is a cure for humanity, not the other way round. You just need to have your eyes opened to it."

Sam holds the syringe up and flicks it until the air sits at the top. 

"You really think this is going to work?"

Red pearls on the top of the needle. 

"You're going to die trying this, Sam, and it won't even work."

Sam steps forward and places the needle to Dean's tensed arm. 

"You're seriously letting him do this?"

Cas is taken aback by the controlled frustration being directed towards him. Dean's words, as much as he tries to block them out, have been circling his mind ever since he and Sam had discussed what they would do if they ever managed to catch Dean. All these issues had come up; the fact that Sam completing this trial would complete all three and he'd definitely not survive this time - to which Sam had said that Cas has Heaven on his side now and could easily fetch his soul back again; the fact that Dean seemed much more content as a demon and might do a decent job of running Hell - to which Sam didn't need to say anything, and only gave him the most incredulous stare; the fact that this might not work on Dean - to which Sam had said exactly what Cas had expected: _we have to try._

He doesn't even try to start this conversation again - Sam is determined to do this, and they'll figure out what to do if it doesn't go according to plan. But for now it's the only plan they've got. 

So Cas turns his attention back to Sam without comment. He doesn't listen to the derogatory words spilling from the demon's mouth now, telling him he should speak up, not let Sam do this to himself, not let those he loves die for no reason - he can hear it all streaming through his own mind in his own voice without having to hear them in Dean's. 

The demon hisses as the blood is pushed into its arm, eyes flaring an angry black. His jaw clenches as the humanity seeps into him, but after a moment he relaxes and licks his lips, smiling.

"Interesting; still definitely a hint of demon in that cocktail, Sammy."

Sam freezes momentarily - he recovers quickly, but Cas sees it. Dean doesn't miss it either and sniggers. 

Sam glares intently at the wall and turns on his heel. Cas takes that as an indication to follow and does so, turning back to the light of the corridor. Dean trails words after them:

"Oh, so we're doing the silent treatment this time? Refuse to acknowledge your own brother? Just gonna let me talk and talk until I drive myself freaking crazy, or - God forbid - _human?_ Fine. I'll just keep myself company. At least get me some Casa Erotica down here."

The things he says carry through the doors even once they're closed again and Sam and Cas pace through the Bunker, both eager to get a little distance from Dean.

They pause in the kitchen and as soon as Cas goes to open his mouth, Sam shuts him up with a pointed finger and a glare.

"Don't even think about saying it. Don't you dare. You can't listen to what he's saying; if you do, he'll use it against you. You know he will." His voice sounds strained and Cas wants to reach out and comfort him, but he doesn't. Instead he sighs. 

"But what if he's right? What if there's no point trying to cure him and it'll only get you killed? Nothing is worth losing you, Sam."

"This is." His lip sticks out defiantly and definitely. It trembles. "If anything is, it's this."

Cas deflates. 

"You know I can't let Dean carry on like this, Cas. He's running _Hell_ now. The world underestimated him enough when he was human; can you imagine what he's probably done already as a demon? We can't let this go on. We just can't."

He walks away before Cas can even voice his agreement.

 

The next week is hard. Neither of them leaves the Bunker; instead they stay in a muted, vacant haze. They have to get rid of Crowley's remains before they stink out the whole place, and they're burning contently out back the day after Dean's healing process begins. Cas doesn't know what he's feeling as he watches the flames engulf the shell of what used to he the king of Hell.

Every few hours, as long as Sam isn't dizzy from blood loss (he refuses to even consider getting blood from another human or even a hospital when "other people need blood more than he needs his" - and besides, there's a chance the cure won't work with someone else's blood), one of them goes and gives Dean his medicine, his cure. Sam and Cas alternate but waiting longer between visits doesn't dull the ache of Cas' heart each time it's his turn.

Between mealtimes, nothing much gets done. They can't handle eating much themselves, nor can they sleep. If they do slip out of consciousness, it's to see old memories twisted into nightmares by the demon they have locked up taking over all versions of their brother. Sam ends up drinking. Cas has to settle for curling up in a big chair as the occasional shouts echo through the building.

It's Dean's voice that is the hardest thing to ignore, the familiarity of it. Some days, especially at first, Dean talks at whoever it is who visits, trying to change their mind, pulling at every sensitive string he can find, desperation growing as time goes by. Cas learns to keep his expression closed and shut out the words. That doesn't mean he doesn't hear them. 

"Morning, Cas. How's my favourite captor? You're looking super well rested. Bet those dreams are downright peachy, am I right?"

"Back again already? Wow, time really flies when you're stuck in here with nothing to do but talk to yourself and stare at walls."

"Can I get a side order of pie with my next dose of humanity? And maybe some air freshener?"

"Ow."

"Why are you letting Sammy do all the hard work? How about giving me a little angel blood, just to spice things up a little? No? You sure? Fine. You're definitely not invited to my Hell-coming party."

"Okay this whole thing is getting boring. At least take me out for a bit. You can put me on a leash if that works for you."

"If you keep doing this to me I swear to God you're first on my hit list when I get out."

"You're seriously still doing this? Reason with me, Cas; you _know_ this is going to end badly. I can see it in your eyes. You're putting on a brave face, but I know you to well. You're terrified."

"Come on, Cas, you don't want to lose Sam, do you? He's the only real family you got left now, bar me, and stopping him doing this will save both of us. I'm happy for the first time in my life and Sam's going to die to make me miserable again? You can make him see sense, I know you can."

"For fuck's sake, quit pumping me full of fucking poison. I'm not your fucking lab rat."

"Okay, I'm tired of this. Come on, Cas, look at me. _Cas."_

Some days he's silent.

Usually he's a least fuming, but today he just seems resigned. He's slumped in his seat, for once free of tension and eyes distant. He says nothing as Cas approaches and takes his arm, turning it over to expose his veins. As the needle enters, Cas feels Dean's hand lightly grip his elbow and he thinks he hears the quietest possible release of breath. When he chances a glance at Dean, the demon's eyes are hard and unmoving and refuse to meet his own. 

That evening when Cas returns Dean is back to his old conversation, but it doesn't have the same force behind it as it did before. It seems an obligation rather than a natural response, and Cas' chest tightens at the lack of heart in his words. It's agonising to experience this side of Dean deteriorating, but it's also the most hopeful Cas has been about their chances at getting out of this. 

Over the next few days, Dean's outlook seems to shift significantly. It's taken much longer (and many more doses) than it had when Sam almost healed Crowley, he assumes partly due to the fresh determination of a new demon but mostly due to the Mark, but he's getting there. He tries to keep face but before long, he's waiting with his arm ready and his mouth shut when they come. One time Dean meets Cas' concerned gaze and Cas sees an internal struggle going on in there; a stubbornness that doesn't want to let go of demonhood, that lust for revenge and domination trying desperately to cling on and that hint of positive emotion seeping through the cracks. 

One day, Dean smiles. 

It's sheepish and only semi-supported by his thoughts and it sits all wrong on this version of him, but it's there. Cas can feel his heart leap at the mere sight of it. 

Sam is sleeping better as Dean's condition improves. Cas can see he's exhausted from the constant loss of blood, but every time he sees a little more humanity in his brother, he relaxes a little more. He smiles to Cas when he exits Dean's chamber and Cas would swear that Sam's eyes are damp as well as minutely optimistic.

A few days later, Dean finds his voice again. It's rough from lack of use, but just as Cas is leaving he hears a soft "Thanks".

Cas walks on with tears stinging his eyes.

 

It's a cold morning. Cas trudges into the Bunker with his hands full of shopping bags and a scarf around his neck and Sam meets him on the stairs. It's their first supply run since Dean came along, and they've nearly eaten themselves out of house and home before resorting to actually leaving the place. 

Sam takes the bags, looking better than he has in days and claiming to feel so too (and understandably since he's been sleeping himself better while Cas served the last few doses), and nods at the full syringe lying waiting on the main table before heading off to the kitchen.

Cas takes a small breath and picks up the dose, heading to Dean's chamber. The fresh air has given him a clearer head a sense of distance from all this, but he plunges back into it with newfound resolve. 

Dean looks happy to see him. He actually meets Cas' eyes this time, watching him enter. "Hey Cas," he murmurs, voice uncharacteristically small.

The angel feels a smile pull at his lips involuntarily and catches himself, breaking eye contact and focusing on Dean's arm instead.

"Come on, you're not even going to look at me?" Dean sounds sad - let down. "You gotta talk to me sometime. Can you... can you just tell me how Sammy's holding up?"

Cas pauses.

"It's just, you know, I haven't seen him for a while. Can't have him skiving when he should be in here giving me hell, huh?" He tries to laugh it off, but it's nowhere near convincing. 

The needle comes out the arm but Cas stays crouched there, hesitating. There's a debate in his head between the part telling him to leave and the part wanting to reassure his friend. When Cas glances up at Dean's concerned face, he caves. "Sam's doing okay."

Dean grimaces. "He won't be for long though, will he?" There's a hitch in his voice that catches Cas off guard.

"Don't worry, Dean; well figure this out." He manages to stop himself reaching out to comfort him. 

Dean is starting at his toes and his voice is thick as he says, "So how are you doing, Cas? You've been stoic as ever but I know there's got to be some angst rattling around up there."

"I'll be fine, Dean. We've just got to get you back first."

"No seriously, what've you been up to this past week or month or however long it's been? Moping around? There's gotta be better things to be doing than wallowing. Doesn't Heaven need you right now?"

Cas sighs. 

"Sorry. Forget I said anything; see you for the next meal."

Cas sighs again, less frustratedly, and sits on the floor in front of Dean. He crosses his legs and rests his hands on his ankles. "Heaven is not important to me right now. I'm tuned out; even if something was going on up there, I'd never know. They can sort it out amongst themselves - appoint a new leader if that's what they need. I've tried telling everyone over and over that I'm no leader, and whenever they try and force me into it anyway it just goes wrong. So I'm taking care of my problems before thinking about everyone else's for once. If that makes me selfish then call me selfish, but that's what I’ve decided I need to do."

Dean is quiet for a moment. "It's not selfish to save other people, Cas." 

_Save,_ Cas notices with an inward smile. _He realises we're saving him._

But he replies almost instantly: "Yes it is. You've been right this whole time; you're my family, you and Sam. I can't let you down again. I've done enough damage; it's time I stopped _trying_ to save the world and actually _did_ save someone for once. But it's all about my redemption; every way I try and look at it, I'm doing this to prove that I don't break everything I touch. And that’s what I can’t stand."

"Cas." Dean's voice is suddenly serious. "Don't you dare tell that to yourself. Is that why you've been looking so damn miserable - because you're trying to do good? That's the stupidest fucking shit I've ever heard, and it's not even the whole truth. Look at me, Cas."

He slowly raises his eyes to a more familiar face than he's seen in a long while. His stomach tightens and he finds himself believing what Dean says to him.

"I know you, Cas. You know I do, better than anyone does. And I also know that you are not doing this to feel good about yourself; you're doing this for me. You're letting Sam do this _for me._ You're stopping me from doing the shit that I apparently thought, somewhere deep down, was okay - I've been torturing, killing - _so_ much killing, Cas." His voice breaks and he clenches his jaw against a tear forming against his lashes. "And I fucking enjoyed it, every moment. There's still a part of me that doesn't feel guilty as hell and I don't really know how I'm dealing with that knowledge right now. But you, you and Sam - you've let me see that. This was all you doing it for me. Right?"

Cas can't do anything but nod and swallow, desperately trying to process these words that are so like his old Dean and yet more open than he had ever been, and his eyes are leaking and Dean is looking concerned and Cas just wants to hold him, cling onto this vision that's painfully human and _feeling_ and he does - he reaches out and holds Dean as best he can with the restraints, hoping he's getting across the gratitude and empathy because Cas has killed oh so many of his brothers, he knows exactly how Dean is feeling right now and Dean leans forward into his arms, his face burying into Cas' shoulder --

 _Ouch,_ his shoulder feels a sharp pain that's like a bite, and it _is_ a bite, Dean's tense in his chair and he's biting and sucking blood to the surface - Cas has heard that this kind of thing is affectionate but it feels wrong and Dean is biting deeper and the blood is breaking the surface now - oh - oh _God_ \--

He tries to pull away but he can't, he's frozen as he watches the Mark on Dean's arm glow red and the power shoots through his veins, rushing to attack the pureness of the angelic blood in Dean's system and boost his defences. He breaks his chains with ease and throws Cas to the floor, looming up over him as he stretches experimentally. Cas tries to scramble back to his feet but Dean's foot crushes down on one of his arms, trapping the other one underneath his body and tries to cry out at the pain of it but he can’t. He tries to call out to Sam, to beg Dean to stop, to say _anything,_ but Dean has lifted a finger to his lips, silencing him completely. He crouches down to Cas’ level and extracts the angel blade from his coat, inspecting it with mild curiosity. He blinks slowly, eyes fading back to black.

"Oh Cas," he sighs in mockery. "Every time. Get you a little emotional and you’re easier for me to dodge than a bullet is for Neo. Did you honestly think all this was going to work? This Mark let me survive _death;_ you really think it can't filter out a blip of humanity? But I gotta say, my acting has been on point this past week - the silences were my favourite parts. No, wait - _Thank you."_ He replicates the tone he'd used perfectly, and it drives a spear through Cas' chest. "You think you can hide what you're feeling but you're so easy to read. Always have been. As soon as I could see you letting yourself believe that this whole thing might be working, I knew this little payback that’s happening right now would be just as satisfying as I've imagined it. Payback for what, do I hear you ask? Well, where to start..." 

Dean is enjoying hearing the sound of his own voice far too much and Cas wants to do something to shut him up but he's helpless. And he hates it. All he can do is listen.

"Let's start with that damn etching on my head, huh? Your little sample just now let me fix it, but you're the one who got me stuck here in the first place - I helped you fulfill your lifelong revenge dream and then you go and stab me in the back. Oh, you were trying to save me, were you? From what, _myself?_ I tried telling you time and time again that I like this life. This is where I belong. I'm one of Cain's; nothing can ever stop that. 

"The saddest thing, though - presumably - is the fact that if you hadn't locked me up here and forced that shit into my veins" - his voice has grown almost earnest - "we might have been something like friends. More like acquaintances, let’s be real here - but imagine it: the new king of Hell, the new ruler of Heaven and the best human hunter all teamed up fixing the world together. It could've been beautiful." He smiles sarcastically and shrugs. "Oh well."

Dean flips the angel blade in his hand casually and straightens up a little. "Now," he begins. "That was the bitchy bit. Time for the fun stuff." He grins indulgently and holds the blade up to Cas' neck, the tip lightly tracing his throat. "Let's put things back to the way they should be," he growls, eyes glinting. 

The blade slides into Cas’ flesh and water streams from his eyes with the effort to move, to stop this happening; his throat aches as he strains to shout. A horrific déjà vu grips him as his grace seeps from the cut - Dean grins and pulls out a hipflask to catch it. “I think I’ll keep a hold of this; could come in useful.” 

This is agony, physical and mental. He’s completely paralysed - all he wants to do is beat the demon into the ground, take out every anger he’s ever harboured and make it feel it all. This betrayal. The way it lifted him up only to throw him into the ground all the harder. Again. He feels indescribably stupid. Sam had told him: it knew his weaknesses and it would use that against him. Dean has always been a weakness of his. Humanity has always been a weakness. His will to do good. And it looks likes this is the last testament of his goodness.

Dean kneels on Cas as he stands up, grinning down at him with clear eyes that only seem to highlight the fact that somehow this is a part of Dean; he’s the one doing this. Not some demon possessing him; this has all been him. The condescending pity in his look makes Cas feel so insignificant, like he’s never been more than a mere existence in Dean’s mind, and a sob wells painfully in his straining throat just as Dean says, “I’ll be back”, smiles once more and plants his heel into Cas’ stomach with all the brute force he cares to muster, making Cas’ body convulse and blood splutter out from between his lips.

The last thing Cas sees is Dean’s retreating figure pause in the doorway, take something from the shelves and roll his shoulders experimentally then disappear into the corridor before the dark swallows him completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	18. How Did We End Up Here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost done now! Two chapters coming in the next few days just in time for season 10. And my UCAS deadline.
> 
> Sammygirlbitches, if you're still reading this fic, this chapter is packed full of Winchester feels just for you.

_Shit._

_Shit. Fuck. God fucking dammit. Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit-_

Sam's head is pounding. Cas lies before him, blood dripping from his mouth and his neck and looking, for the life of him, dead. And Dean is gone.

Things had been going so well. Dean had looked like he was starting to turn around. Hell, Sam had seen that old self-loathing trying to break free and he had been sure that things were going to be okay. He should’ve learnt from all these years never to hope too soon. Had the blood even worked on Dean? Had this all been one big act to get their guards down just enough to reach out and take them by the throat? Sam for one had allowed himself a sliver of optimism, and though whenever he was in this room he acted as though he was blind and deaf to Dean, the guy knows him. Better than anyone else. He would’ve been able to see the slight ease of tension in Sam’s shoulders that betrayed his hope, even if it didn’t show on his face. He would’ve played along, knowing every quirk and mannerism of the old Dean as well as he knows the new ones. Sam’s almost amazed it took this long for him to flip - but then, he supposes, the longer he kept up, the facade, the more convincing it would have been. And it was.

 _Okay. Shit. Fuck. Okay._ Sam pushes back hyperventilation and tries to focus, clearing his mind in a way that he's learnt to over years of hunting to avoid fucking up, putting emotion and panic in a locked drawer for later and picking up the guidelines for strategy and common sense. He paces forwards and to check that Cas is breathing, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding when he finds that he is. Sam arranges him in the recovery position, remembering back unexpectedly clearly to when John had originally taught him that, pulls Ruby's knife out as he heads to the door. He grabs a bottle of holy water before realising with another drop of his stomach that the Blade is gone. _Fuck._ Sam closes his eyes against the sinking feeling and shuts the doors behind him, the wardings taking effect; at least Dean shouldn't be able to hurt Cas any more.

There are several different kinds of silence. We experience them all at some point or another; there's the one when you're home alone, a pleasant lack of company and sense of privacy. The silence after a place that's overly loud, outside a club or a tube station, welcoming you with the relief. There's the sombre silence, contemplative and deep. The silence that gets filled with your thoughts. There are dramatic silences, a dead pause in conversation after some bomb has been dropped. There's the silence that has a thrill, an anticipation, something exciting on the other side. 

But there's also a darker silence. One that deafens, holds your nerves tight and makes your throat constrict, creeps under your skin and settles there in chills. It promises something deadly and terrifying. Sam had heard it when he and Cas first came back into the Bunker a couple of weeks ago - it feels like months ago now - not knowing in what state they would find Dean, but at least then they'd had the security of Cas' angelic carving reassuring them. Now the tension is tenfold; the pentagram has failed, the angel of the Lord is down, and what used to be Sam's brother is loose. After what they’ve put Dean through, Sam has no doubt he will be out for blood.

As Sam stalks the halls and this disconcerting silence settles in, the rationality starts to slip and he can feel the fear seeping in. It feels like Dean is going to be round every corner, waiting to make his nightmares a reality. Some part of Sam has always known that if they lived long enough, it would always end up with one of them hunting the other down, whether it be a result of the apocalypse or some turn of events that was the one thing they couldn't fix. _You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain._

That puts a sour taste in Sam mouth, complementary to the prickles running up the back of his neck. Is Sam a villain of some kind now as well? He’s hunting down his own brother, for Christ’s sake. Family always comes first. When did that change so dramatically?

_When you let your own brother take on the powers of a damn demon, the king or murder no less. Well done on that one, Sam._

How the hell did this happen? How did he let this happen? To Dean, of all people; Dean who looked after him since he pulled him from their burning home and watched out for him more than their dad ever did, who took him to school with classic rock blaring from his car, making him dinner every night and always being there when Dad wasn’t, having his back through hunts and bringing him back from the dead multiple times -

Sam has to stop and lean against the wall as he desperately tries to control his breathing. This isn’t going to help him deal with this situation whatsoever, and he tells himself that over and over again, pushing it down. Dean has always been the worst of the two of them for internalising things; hunting has always let Sam take out his anger and frustration and then he could complain at Dean and get it all straightened out; he learned to deal with all his angst. Only now the hunting is directed at Dean and Sam has nowhere to go - the emptiness that surrounds him, the lack of distraction in the halls gives him nothing to escape the thoughts that come circling back, unfailingly. He even starts to think that Dean might have just bolted, skipped the whole revenge thing and saved it for another day -

A tiny scuffle. It’s the first noise Sam has heard in a long while and he almost thinks he imagined it, but it comes again, just round the corner. His senses leap at the stimulation and he paces swiftly to peer around the wall… There’s nothing, but he can feel that someone else is there. He waits a beat, hears another gentle noise and follows it, wincing at the sharp sound the the toe of his boot catches the floor in his haste. The sound of his breathing is too loud - no matter how he tries to control it, it fills his ears as he pursues the sounds of careful steps that always seem to be ahead of him, just out of sight but close enough to touch...

He remembers leading Dean to Crowley and the lightness with which he stepped. Someone that agile and stealthy would make the noises he’s hearing as they walk, even in a place as quiet as this. It occurs to him that maybe Dean’s just playing tricks on him now - playing with his food…

Sam feels like he’s going mad. Again.

His head swims momentarily and his eyes sting - he swallows down the panic that’s rising, _come on Sam, you have do this; it’s no surprise you’re feeling like this, you’re only human -_ you _are still human, Sam, and you_ can _do -_

“That’s right, Sam. You’re only human.”

Sam’s head snaps up with his arm which now holds the knife to Dean’s throat. He must’ve been muttering out loud but that doesn’t matter - Dean is here in front of him right now, right in this instant, considering him with the same cool contemplation he had worn a fortnight ago. The longer Sam stares back, with an agonised look undoubtedly upon his face, the more Dean smiles.

“Go on, Sammy. Do it.” His voice is soft and tantalising, but his face is still Dean’s and that makes Sam’s hand tremble against the instinct telling him he should put that knife through his throat. Dean shakes his head when Sam doesn’t make his move, almost as though he’s - 

“I’m disappointed in you, Sammy.” Even in this moment, it stings. “Of the two of us, you were the one who had the most chance of actually doing the ‘right thing’ if one of us went darkside.” He shrugs and takes out the Blade. “Looks like I’ll have to do the honours.”

But rather than go right ahead with what he's got planned, Dean apparently wants to make the most of this opportunity. He plays with the Blade casually with deft hands and walks around Sam, a smug smile in place. "Take a look at where you are, Sam."

Suddenly, Sam feels like he’s going to be sick. They’re stood by the table in the main hall… in the exact same spot where Sam - _no, it was Ezekiel, not you_ \- killed Kevin. The roles are reversed; now Sam can see exactly what it was like for him to be stood here and be taken out by someone who he thought was family. It’s unbearable.

His legs want to give way, but they’re locked. He can’t move, and it’s not psychological; Dean grins at him, watching him realise his situation. 

“Can’t have you running off in the middle of my revenge speech, can I now, Sammy?”

Sam can’t do this anymore. His arm is aching from holding the knife up, but he can’t put it down. Dean circles him with a repulsive air of self-satisfaction, but Sam can’t even find it in him to get angry. He just wants this to be over. 

“It’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? The number of times we’ve died in each other’s arms, only for it to end like this.” 

Sam closes his eyes against that. This whole situation has been twisted so far out of what it should have been. It’s ugly and he doesn’t want to look anymore. He wishes he could stop listening, but he knows Dean is going to make sure he hears every word. Sam had been trying not to think about how flipped their reality has become, but now it’s being shoved down his throat it’s hard to avoid.

Dean stops in front of him and sighs. “I don’t want to kill you, Sammy. Actually, that’s a lie; I want to kill you more than anything right now - get my own back for everything you’ve done to me over the years -”

Sam finds his voice by default. “Everything I’ve done to _you?!”_

Dean grins. “There’s the feisty side I love so much. Yes, Sam; you’ve put me through a hell of a lot of shit. Would you like me to go through it?” Sam opens his mouth to protest, but Dean cuts him off. “Good. Let’s start with Ruby and demon blood, shall we?”

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, how are you _still_ going on about that?”

“‘Old resentments made new’ is a pretty vital part of the all-inclusive demon package. And besides, it’s not like it’s the only secret you’ve kept from me. How about when you were around for a whole year when I thought you were still in the pit?”

“I didn’t have a fucking soul, Dean,” Sam spits back, letting himself be drawn into the bickering despite its emotional repercussions.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. But then there was not trying to get me back after Dick. Ditching Kevin.” He pauses over the name, reminding Sam of where he’s standing and watching it settle in his mind. “There was running off to go play at normal life. Twice. And there’s endless lies on top of all that, Sam. Endless.”

Sam takes a steadying breath before responding. “You know what, Dean? You’ve always talked like I’m the one at fault for trying to have a life of my own, for not putting family first and foremost, but can you really blame me for it when all I get when I come back is a load of shit for it? And don’t try and tell me you’re innocent because there’s no way I’ll buy that shit. You wanna talk about keeping secrets? How about letting a damn angel possess me? Putting a wall in my head so I didn’t remember Hell, but not telling me everything I did while I was soulless? Making a damn demon deal to bring me back once and telling me I just recovered from being stabbed in the back? Making friends with a vamp and telling me to be okay with it when you always gave me stick for giving Ruby a chance? Killing Amy?” He attempts to calm himself. “You’re just as bad as me, Dean. Maybe not in the same way, but you’re as much of a fuckup as I am.”

Dean contemplates him carefully. He contemplates him for a long while. Sam can feel those repercussions now, similar to what he felt when they dealt with Crowley; like they’re brothers again. Arguing like old times, playing off each other in a way that only the two of them can. They’ll never stop being brothers. And if he didn’t know any better, Sam would say it’s affection he’s seeing in Dean’s eyes.

“See, that right there is why part of me doesn’t want to kill you. You’ve got a fire in you, Sam; you always have done. I kinda want to give you a fighting chance.” The demon smirks, making it obvious he’s going to do no such thing - he’s not stupid. Then; “You’re going to do well, Sam.”

Sam doesn’t have the mindspace to think about whatever the hell that means because Dean’s raised the Blade again and without any warning, it’s sliding into his stomach, the teeth catching painfully on his flesh. Dean looks at him with blank, unfeeling eyes as he twists, churning Sam’s middle up with ease.

Sam isn’t really noticing the physical pain; he’s experienced it and worse before, although the Blade had a particularly nasty bite to it. What he is noticing is that irony, and acknowledging the fact that _this is it;_ this is the final death he’d begged for last time. There’s no way he’s coming back from this; Cas is graceless but even if he does manage to send a garrison to retrieve him, he’s sure his soul will be heavily guarded. Last time Sam was going to die permanently it was Dean who brought him back to life, but now it’s the other way round. All at once, Sam realises he’s really not ready to die - not with Dean still around, demonic anger coursing happily through his veins, not with the world so fucked up still. Last time, he would’ve been saving the world by dying. This is all so completely and utterly wrong.

He’s conscious of his thoughts slowing. He’s slipping, moment by moment, and Dean pulls the Blade back out roughly, letting Sam fall to the floor in a mess.

The image of Dean standing over him cleaning the Blade of his brother’s blood and flesh is the last image Sam’s eyes see of this world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um... sorry again.


	19. Don't Fear The Reaper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost there. The last chapter will (hopefully) be up tomorrow evening. Thank you for reading so far, it means so much to me :3

Sam's reaper in insanely efficient; his soul has barely departed his body when it shows up. Dean meets it over his brother's corpse, holding Sam's soul possessively. The reaper is big and broad, probably having been briefed to expect a fight, but even it looks intimidated by the prospect of fighting Cain's heir. There’s a distinct difference between brute strength and skill, and Dean has both - this other thing may have the look of an overbearing thug, but Dean very much doubts it can follow through. Reapers don’t tend to need that kind of dexterity; shit like compassion is more the route they tend to take. Pathetic.

"You're not getting it. Period." Dean figures he may as well be plain. 

"You wanna bet?" the reaper sneers back, but his bravado does nothing to impress Dean. 

He sighs. _Always so tedious._ "Okay, yeah. What do you want to bet on? Your soul - if reapers even have those? Your freedom? Actually a reaper slave would be great - and you _would_ end up as my slave because there's is no way you're going to win this. You know who I am. You know who this is." He holds the soul up. It's struggling against him - classic Sam - wanting to get out of his grasp and into the reaper's. That's not going to happen. "If you even try to take him from me you'll be on the floor before you can, with your head smashed in and your innards on the out."

The reaper pauses. 

"Come on; I know you're not stupid. Walking away from this is the far better option here. Just turn and go."

After a moment longer’s consideration, it wisely steps back and, with one last wary look, turns on its heel.

The Blade crunches through its neck with ease. 

Okay, so maybe turning its back on Dean wasn't such a great idea. But he couldn't have that thing running back and sending out a search party for the last precious Winchester, could he?

Now, where was he? Ah yes.

Next stop: Cas.

The wardings are burning strong on the doors, so Dean quickly pops to one of the Earth offices and grabs one of the human he's recruited to the cause and gets them to break the lines. It feels good to be able to flit around freely again, and he feels overly proud of himself at not feeling in the least bit queasy after having not teleported for a good long while.

"Thank you," he smiles at her when it's done. See; he can be nice. "Now I'm going to send you back and I want you to bring everyone back here to start filtering through every book in this place - the things we could do with the knowledge in here is endless." He contemplates explaining it further but decides not to bother wasting the breath - there’s no way to explain what the contents of this building could do to Hell’s cause. He can tell that his eyes are glinting mischievously at the mere thought of it. He sends her back and within moments, the place is crawling with his workers. Dean spots Aaron across the room and grins at him in victory, dropping a wink in for good measure. The other demon flushes furiously and smiles back. Dean is so getting on that when he next has the chance. 

For now, he enters what used to be his cell and closes the doors behind him, shutting out the bustle. 

Cas is still. The blood has dried on his face and neck and he looks... broken.

Dean closes his eyes and reaches out to the spiritual dimension, seeing Cas' graceless soul curled up and flickering. As Dean takes a hold of it, a soft noise of pain is choked from Cas’ vessel. Cas tries to escape but there’s nowhere for him to go and he stutters in Dean’s unrelenting grasp, delicate tendrils of light reaching out desperately in an attempt to hold onto his vessel, but Dean pulls him away and then the soul has departed. The body begins to cool as Cas’ soul sits warm and worried in his palm. 

He stows both Sam and Cas' souls away safely and shoulders Cas body, heading out the door again. The excited chatter dies down at the sight of him but he walks through the and picks up Sam as well, having stashed the Blade in his back pocket once more. Without a word, he walks up to and out of the front door, feeling a cool breeze on his face for the first time and allowing himself to truly appreciate his freedom. It swells in his chest; _I’m out._ Part of him didn’t expect it to actually happen, but here he is at last.

It isn't hard to find the fire site - there are still remnants of Crowley's charred literary agent bones scattered in the ashes that Dean lies Sam and Cas' empty bodies on, side by side. The salt and petrol are still sat on the ground.

Dean watches the flames engulf them (pointedly ignoring the angry vibrations of the souls in his pockets) with an odd mix of satisfaction and sombreness. He sees Crowley's bones glowing once more and he can't help but revel in the victory this has turned out to be. Hell is his; he's got free reign. There's no need to walk around pretending to be Crowley's lapdog or faking being all-muscle-no-independent-thought. He can be who he wants to be now. The world is his to command. 

The sombreness is genuine. Contrary to popular belief, Dean does still have some emotion locked away down there; well, _he_ certainly wouldn't go so far as to call it emotion - a sense of respect, at least. Sam is - _was_ \- a bloody good hunter (an even better one when he didn't have a soul). His rationality was often prevailing over his feelings in a way that Dean never used to be able to deal with. He would’ve know that what Sam said on one occasion or the other was realistically the best thing to do, but Dean would have clung to the injustice of letting some measly person die and felt guilty for days. Thank God he's past all that now.

Cas, on the other hand... Cas would had been a valuable asset. Having an angel had always helped them immensely, but having an angel in the hands of demons - who knows what they would've been able to do together? Still, that reminiscent part of Dean murmurs something about how close they used to be - he and Sam, as well, being brothers for all those years, and the fact that it’s a shame he had to end them.

It’s (mostly) not for the purpose of upholding tradition and respect that he’s burning them; the hunter’s funeral has a practical side to it as well. No body means no ghost or resurrection - unless Sam were to get shoved into another body, but that’d just be plain fucking weird. Cas could _potentially_ come back, but Dean very much doubts he’ll be able to get out in the first place...

Eventually, when they’re reduced to the same kind of remains as the ones that was laid there before them, Dean rolls his shoulders experimentally as he turns away and takes a deep breath. He smiles to himself. 

_Time for a little trip._


	20. No Rest For The Wicked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's read this, it means a lot and I'm really happy with it - this is the longest thing I've written and I've just about finished it in time for the new season so yay!
> 
> God luck to all with the start of season 10 - I'm sure it'll be incredible, and hopefully not quite so horrific as this has turned out to be. Um yeah. Sorry once more.
> 
> [-listen as you read-](http://8tracks.com/midnightecho/predator)

The room is clinically white. The large bright lights in the ceiling don't help the eyes of anyone who isn't used to it. There's a table in the centre laid out with all manner of instruments, from thin needles to flat blades, chains and knives to bottles and boxes of varying content. It's a truly beautiful and impressive display - if you have that kind of eye. To anyone else it would seem... well, just plain terrifying. Especially if you're chained up facing it. 

It's especially torturous to the angel soul that is in that position - Cas spots a small vial at the closest end of the table that contains a swirling, glowing light. _Grace._ It's sat there, tantalisingly close, just waiting to be grabbed back and returned home if he could just find a way to reach out...

As soon as Dean walks in, it's clear that'll never happen. He sidles up and checks the security of Cas and Sam's bonds - yes, Sam is there beside the angel, just rousing - and apparently finds himself satisfied. He takes a step back to admire his work and smiles.

To him, this is beautiful. Souls in Hell have virtual forms that are endlessly renewable - unlimited respawn, as Charlie Bradbury would call it - which means endless torture. Wonderful. Time for a little more of that revenge he'd been holding out for.

"...Dean?" Sam croaks. He screws his eyes up against the glare of the lights.

"Welcome home, Sammy," the demon smirks, raising his arms to indicate their enclosure. "Looks pretty similar to your hall of residence from last time you were down here, right? Well, plot twist; that's because it is. Oh wait, I forgot the finishing touch..."

Dean disappears behind a door and Sam's eyes widen when he returns with someone in tow. Wrapped in a straightjacket and led by a shiny collar and lead (which Dean would tell you is made from melted down angel blades) is none other than Lucifer himself. 

To be honest, he looks pretty good for all the years he's been stuck down in this pit with only himself, _Michael_ and a half-Winchester for company - once Sam left, that is. Adam had done surprisingly well under the circumstances and gone along beautifully with the hallucinations - Lucy had actually managed to pull off the reality illusion for a good few months, and the breakdown afterwards had been monumentous. Nowadays, though, he lies around broken and Lucifer has had to put up with his idiotic brother instead. 

That is, until Dean came along. 

Dean had admitted how he admired his work, although he couldn't appreciate it fully whilst still a "how did you put it... 'hairless ape'." He had spoken business, discussed what they could do with Hell, explained his visions for the world. Of course, Lucifer would have to stay as no more than an adviser and be kept under strict personal supervision, but he promised to let him out every once in a while for his co-operation and friendship (little though that word means down here) - and he also promised him this.

Safe in the cage now, Dean unstraps one of Lucifer's arms, which the angel proceeds to flex experimentally. He steps slowly over to the implement array, running admiring fingers across them. "This is a better collection than mine. I'm impressed," he murmurs. He selects one and holds it up to the light, eyes reverent. 

Then he turns his gaze on Sam. 

The poor boy is completely frozen. He hasn't heard that voice for years, and he's been incredibly thankful of that. Now all his nightmares are merging into one right before his eyes. Cas, who took on Lucifer from Sam's mind, looks no more enthralled by these events and can similarly do nothing but stare - at Dean rather than Lucifer. Are there no damn lengths he won't go to anymore? 

"Long time no hallucination, Sam." That old pout is back in Lucifer's tone and Sam looks like he's about to throw up. "What happened? I thought we had a special something.

"And Castiel." He turns to the ex-angel. "I hear you've been up to some pretty awful things back home since I've been down here." He gives Cas a stern look and sighs. "I'm disappointed in you guys," he adds before turning in one surprisingly fluid movement and slicing deep into both Cas and Sam's throats. 

Lucifer turns back to grin at Dean. "You have no idea how much I've missed doing that." Dean raises an eyebrow. "Okay, maybe you do. I want another go."

Dean smirks and joins him with his own Blade, and within moments their prisoners are whole once more.

_And so it begins._

"This is going to be so much fun..."


End file.
